Child of Hogwarts, Part I: The Lion, the Snake, and the Chamber
by AimeretVivre
Summary: First in a series of canon-based stories, which will follow Harry Potter from the summer before COS through Hogwarts. When Harry returns to the Dursleys after the events of PS, his summer gets off to a terrible start. Albus intervenes, taking Harry back to the castle. Come see how multiple POVs and changing relationships slowly shape Harry's world! Mentorship; Training; Adventure.
1. Back to the Dursleys

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 1: Back to the Dursleys**

Harry Potter pulled his heavy school trunk from the boot of the car, careful not to scratch the bumper. His Uncle Vernon might be wary of his nephew now that he had a year's training at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but Harry doubted that his nervousness would prevent him from punishing Harry if he damaged the company car that was Vernon's newest pride and joy. His arms protested the weight, but he managed to ease the case to the ground without marring the paint job. Wearily, he grasped the handle and began to pull his trunk up the pathway to Number 4, Privet Drive's front door. He noticed someone – probably Dudley, had shut it. He tried the handle.

Locked.

Sighing, he knocked. He could hear the telly playing inside, an evening programme blasting loudly in the sitting room. It seemed his aunt and uncle couldn't hear him. With a sense of foreboding, he reached for the doorbell and pressed the little button down.

The door swung open seconds later, and Harry found himself yanked roughly inside, the tender muscles of his arm protesting sharply as the trunk was pulled in after him.

' _What,_ ' his uncle spat, through gritted teeth, 'Could you mean by ringing the bell, boy? Are you trying to tell the whole neighbourhood you're back, then!?' he ranted, his face purpling dangerously.

'Sorry,' said Harry hastily, taking a step back against the closed door now that his uncle had released his grip on his shoulder. 'I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon. The door was locked. I did try knocking.' He watched warily as his uncle's pulse receded from the vein in his temple.

'Hmph.' Vernon huffed out. His gaze was drawn into the kitchen, where Harry could tell from the muffled noises that Aunt Petunia was fixing dinner. 'Well. Put that stuff upstairs then, and go and help your aunt.'

Harry nodded and dragged the trunk toward the staircase as his uncle headed out of the hall. He turned his back to the stairs, and had just grasped the handle with both hands to haul the thing up when heavy footfalls warned him that Vernon had returned. He glanced up to see the man's face dangerously close again, and immediately leaned back a bit.

'And I'm warning you, boy,' Vernon said, his voice low but no less frightening for lack of volume, 'You keep that funny business out of this house while you're here. I'll not have my family exposed to that freakish mumbo jumbo. And you're to do your chores and mind your aunt this summer. You'll pull your weight while you're here, or you'll get out! And keep that… those… keep your _school things_ ,' he spat the words viciously at Harry, who saw bits of spittle hit his glasses, 'In your bedroom and out of our sight, you hear me?'

Harry nodded quickly as Uncle Vernon finished his diatribe, and let out a long breath as the man disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen once more. He grabbed for the trunk again and, with considerable effort, managed to hoist it up the stairs to the first floor landing. He rolled it resignedly toward his room, rubbing a light layer of sweat from his forehead as he went, and pushed open the door. He was greeted immediately by a quiet hoot from his chest of drawers.

'Hedwig!' He said with a smile, rushing over to open the cage door. The snowy owl hooted again, this time in a forlorn sort of way. Harry was confused, until his fumbling fingers noted a tiny padlock on the door of the cage.

'Oh, Hedwig,' he said sadly, trying in vain to tug the little lock off the cage door. It wouldn't budge.

Harry had found it strange when his uncle had exited the car on their return from Kings Cross, immediately taken the cage from Harry's lap, and told him to gather his trunk. He'd never considered that Uncle Vernon had taken the owl out of consideration for Harry – indeed, he had assumed that his uncle wanted to minimise the possibility that anyone from the neighbourhood might notice the owl entering the house. But he hadn't considered the fact that Vernon might lock Hedwig in the cage _permanently_ while he was lugging in his trunk.

'I'm sorry, girl,' he apologised to the owl, stroking her head through the bars of the cage. She gazed reproachfully up at him, but he took it as a good sign that she did not attempt to nip his fingers. 'I'll try and work on him, if I can,' he promised her. The owl gave a little hoot of understanding, and turned her head to the water dish for a drink. Harry sighed and drew his fingers back.

'Boy!' He heard his uncle bellow from downstairs.

'I'm coming!' he called back, whirling for the door again before his uncle could get angry enough to come up after him.

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Fifteen minutes later found Harry sitting at one end of the square table in the kitchen, trying valiantly to avoid his aunt and uncle's gaze as they talked across it. He picked moodily at his bangers and mash. It wasn't much – certainly less than Dudley was served – but he considered it a stroke of good fortune that he hadn't had to cook tonight. By the time he'd come downstairs, his aunt had nearly finished browning the meat and merely jabbed a finger at the cutlery drawer, indicating that Harry should lay the table. The sausages were a bit bland, and Harry, in his desolation over his return to Privet Drive, wasn't feeling overly hungry. Dudley eyed the food on Harry's plate greedily, having finished his own portion ten minutes ago.

'Mum, aren't there any more sausages?' Dudley whinged at his mother.

'I'm afraid not Diddy-dums,' Petunia simpered back, breaking off her conversation with Uncle Vernon midstream. 'But mummy has more potatoes if you want them, darling.' Dudley held his plate out wordlessly to her, and Petunia bustled away from the table to scoop another helping of mash for her son. Harry looked down at his half-eaten sausage for a moment, then pushed the plate across the table at Dudley.

'You can have the rest if you like,' he said as he slid the food. Dudley reached out eagerly to snatch it, but Uncle Vernon flung out a hand to catch Dudley's wrist.

'Petunia's cooking not good enough for you, boy?' he spat nastily at Harry. 'Gone off it, with whatever they're feeding you up at that freak school?'

Harry felt his temper rise, but swallowed down the retort he longed to fling at his uncle. 'No,' he replied, in a tone of forced calm. 'I'm just not hungry. Tired from the trip.'

Uncle Vernon grunted, but allowed Dudley to pull Harry's plate toward his place as Aunt Petunia re-joined the family with the extra potatoes. Dudley dug in immediately, and Harry returned to his dead-pan at the table top.

'Well, boy,' Aunt Petunia put in, as she reclaimed her seat, 'If you're that tired, you'd better get on up to bed then. Go on.'

Harry nodded quickly and excused himself from the table, slipping out before his relatives could change their minds and decide he'd better stick around for the clean-up. He'd much rather remain in his room, with Hedwig and his school things, then sit on pins and needles in the kitchen with his aunt and uncle.

Bounding up to the first floor, Harry stopped in briefly to brush his teeth and wash his face in the loo, then changed into his pyjamas. He snuck Hedwig a bit of sausage he'd managed to pocket at dinner, and watched her for a moment as she ate. She was quiet for now, but Harry knew she'd grow restless if she wasn't allowed out to fly soon. He sighed in defeat. A problem for later, he supposed.

He flopped onto his lumpy bed, staring up at the bland white of the ceiling and thinking longingly of his four-poster in Gryffindor tower. Two months. Two long months until he would finally be able to return to Hogwarts. Two long months until he could, at last, go home.

Harry doubted he could make it.


	2. The Eyes in the Hedge

**A/N:** For purposes of this story line, I have moved up Dobby's warning at Privet Drive. While in canon he arrives on Harry's 12th birthday (31 July), in my storyline he makes his first appearance approximately one week into the summer holiday, so around the end of the first week of July. Enjoy!

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 2: The Eyes in the Hedge**

A week on, and Harry was thoroughly bored with his time in the Muggle world. His aunt and uncle hadn't spoken much to him, except to set him chores in the morning and bark at him if they needed something during the day. Otherwise, he was left well enough alone, which suited him perfectly.

When he wasn't working in the drive or garden or performing various chores in the house, Harry took to shutting himself up in his room, perusing his summer assignments or reading _Quidditch Through the Ages_ , which Hermione had gifted him permanently at the end of term. He wished he could take his reading out into the sunlight, but Uncle Vernon had been very clear that his Hogwarts things were to stay in his bedroom, and Harry wasn't fool enough to think that his uncle's hatred for all things wizard would not stretch to textbooks… or even _normal_ books – not when the pictures on the front cover kept moving, anyhow.

What he really wanted to do was write to his friends. Harry had already penned long letters to both Ron and Hermione, and even written to Hagrid, but all the letters sat in furled scrolls on the little desk by his window. Without Hedwig free to fly in and out, he couldn't send them himself. He had been hoping that Ron or Hermione would write him, and he'd be able to send the letters out with the delivery owl, but so far neither of his friends had sent any post. The silence had him a bit depressed. He hoped his friends hadn't forgotten him in the excitement of going home.

Harry's musings were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door, which was flung open before he could even open his mouth. His uncle's overlarge belly preceded him through the doorway.

'Boy,' he said in greeting. Harry stuck the parchment with his half-finished Charms essay quickly into _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1_ and slammed the book shut, sliding it behind him as he sat up on the bed. 'Your aunt and I are going out,' his uncle continued, eyeing the book in distaste but without comment, 'We've been invited to the Millers for tea. You and Dudley will be on your own for a few hours.'

'Ok.' Harry said. He wished that Dudley had been invited out too – it would be lovely to have the house to himself for a while. His uncle narrowed his beady eyes, clearly distrustful of this ready agreement.

'Right then. Don't cause any trouble, you hear me? Or they'll be hell to pay when we return.'

Harry nodded quickly, pushing his glasses back into place on the bridge of his nose. Vernon grunted and left the room, shutting the door loudly behind him. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. The Millers lived at least twenty minutes away, and tea with guests was sure to be a two-hour affair at minimum… All in, Harry was positive he could bank on his aunt and uncle being out for at least three hours. He rushed to the window and peeked through the curtains. He saw Aunt Petunia fussily checking her makeup in the side mirror of the car, waiting for Uncle Vernon to exit the house. The panes shook a little as his uncle slammed the front door and joined her a minute or so later. He watched as the car finally pulled out of the driveway, and sped away.

He could have jumped for joy. _Three_ _whole hours_ to himself. Well, as long as Dudley didn't get bored and come looking for him. But there wasn't much fear of that. His cousin had seemed rather skittish around him this summer, generally choosing to stay well away from Harry whenever possible.

Harry was much happier for it.

Deciding to revel in the freedom afforded by his aunt and uncle's absence, Harry grabbed the book from his bed, his parchment and quill, and set off for the garden. He figured he'd be able to complete this essay in the sunshine – it wasn't likely that his cousin would emerge from his bedroom; not with a brand new television set and dozens of video games to keep him occupied. The sunlight hitting his face felt wonderful as he threw open the back door and headed for the garden bench. A perfect afternoon for it, too! Harry felt light-hearted, pleased for the first time that it was summer.

He plopped down on the bench and opened his book to the marked page. The assignment wasn't a difficult one, but there was a lot of reading involved. At least he would be able to complete this work without getting his new textbooks – he hadn't yet worked out how to convince his relatives to allow him to go to Diagon Alley for a day. That might prove a difficulty later, as a glance at the Potions essay he'd been set told Harry that Snape – at least – expected far more than what he'd be able to find in the first year's text. But, still on Charms for the moment, Harry settled in to work.

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An hour later, he set aside the text and parchment, stretching out his back from the hunched over position he'd been set in for so long. He hopped off the bench and wandered into the grass, looking up at the sky as he had a half dozen times that afternoon, and wishing he'd see an owl winging down with a letter from his own world. The brief elation he'd felt at his afternoon freedom had ebbed now that he'd finished the essay and could devote full attention to his musings on Ron and Hermione's silence. Harry sank onto the grass, fiddling absentmindedly with a dandelion stem that had creeped into the otherwise perfect grass. He stared despondently into the deep green of the hedges, wondering what his friends were up to right now, and considering how he might be able to sneak Hedwig out and owl them… and started.

 _The hedge was staring back_.

A great pair of bulbous green eyes bore into his own from a point about two feet off the ground, deep in the darkness of the shrubbery. Harry leapt to his feet, just as the back door of Number 4 slammed. He turned, momentarily distracted by the noise, and saw his cousin Dudley approaching with a sneer on his face. By the time he whipped his head back to stare at the hedge, the eyes had vanished. Harry moved closer to the bushes, trying to see through the dense leaves. But whatever it was, it had definitely gone.

'Oi, Potter,' Dudley called, drawing Harry's focus from the hedge again. He turned to see Dudley at the bench he'd been working on, leaning against the handrail and holding Harry's spellbook in one hand as he leered at him. Harry made for the bench at once, snatching up his completed scroll and stuffing it into a pocket of his jeans before Dudley could take that too.

'Give it here, Dudley,' Harry said, reaching out a hand for the book. Dudley swung the tome at him, knocking his hand down, but didn't give it over.

'Why, Potter? Going to fight me, are you? Dad said you're not allowed to bring your freak stuff outside your room. What do you think he'd do if I told him you actually brought _this_ into the _garden_?'

Harry found his blood boiling at the thought – not only out of anger, but also with fear. He should have _known_ Dudley would pull something while they were alone in the house together, just to get Harry in trouble. And Dudley was right – Uncle Vernon would go ballistic if he found out that Harry had been studying magic on his garden bench.

'It's not what you think, Dudley,' Harry tried, moving closer to his cousin, 'It's just reading. Please, just give it –'

But he broke off as Dudley raised the book above his head, let it fall to the ground, then started stomping it into the earth. Harry saw the pages crumple and the binding start to slide.

'NO!' he screamed, reaching an arm toward the book.

To his shock and amazement, the book slid out from under Dudley's trainer and flew up into his hand. His cousin was thrown back slightly from the sudden change in his footing.

Dudley stared at Harry, going pale. 'You… you're not allowed!' he bellowed, pointing a shaking finger at Harry. 'Dad said you're _not allowed_!'

Dudley turned tail and ran into the house, the door swinging shut behind him. Harry was sure that Dudley was running to barricade himself in his bedroom. He sighed, trying to brush the dirt off the cover of his book. He was sure to get it when Uncle Vernon got back.

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Two hours later, Harry was staring into his uncle's face, watching the puce shade of his cheeks grow deeper and deeper as he bellowed himself hoarse at Harry.

'No consideration whatsoever!' he ranted, 'We bring you up, give you clothes off our own son's back, food from our table, and you DARE to threaten Dudley, do you?!'

Harry didn't bother to try and set his uncle straight. He knew from experience that when Vernon was in this sort of tirade, it was a lost cause.

'You ungrateful little wrench!' Uncle Vernon continued, slamming his hand on Harry's desk as he shouted. Harry watched as one of his ink bottles toppled over, drenching several scrolls of parchment in scarlet. Hedwig jumped and flapped her wings in apparent fright but, thankfully, didn't make any sound of protest.

'Well, I'll tell you now boy – I've had it. I'm finished with it!' Vernon strode to the empty trunk at the foot of Harry's bed and kicked it open, pushing it with his foot into the centre of the room. 'Pack your school things – NOW! They're going away for the rest of the summer. Gave you a chance, I did – but you can't be trusted. I'll not have my son in danger! I'll not have you pulling your tricks on my family!'

Harry stared in horror. _Pack his school things away_? _But how would he get his assignments completed_?

'Uncle Vernon, please,' he ventured, trying to keep his voice from shaking. 'Please, I promise, I won't cause any more trouble. I didn't mean to do that to Dudley – it was an accident!'

Vernon lowered his face to Harry's eye-level, inches from his nose. Harry could feel his furious breath hot on his cheeks. 'NOW!' he bellowed again, and shoved Harry roughly toward the desk. Defeated, Harry began to pack away his school books, quills, and parchment. He stacked them as neatly as possible in the trunk and closed the lid, turning to face Uncle Vernon again.

Vernon didn't move to take the trunk. Instead, he held out one meaty hand, palm up. Harry stared, confused.

'The stick too, boy!' Vernon said maliciously.

Harry swallowed. He withdrew his wand shakily from his pocket, handing it to Uncle Vernon. Vernon tossed it carelessly into the trunk, then latched the lid once more. Without another word to Harry, he strode from the room, dragging the trunk behind him.

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Another week passed, and Harry's summer had taken a turn for the worse. Without his reading and homework to distract him, Harry was forced to spend his days completing his chores, wandering the neighbourhood, and shut up in his room, staring aimlessly around in boredom. Worse yet, the lack of activity and evenings spent without a way to tire his mind had left Harry oddly exhausted and yet incapable of sleep at night. He was restless and ornery, turning over and over in his bed without seeming to be able to fall asleep. When he did manage to drift off, he was haunted nightly by horrendous nightmares that left him shaking in a cold sweat, and often woke to the sound of his own screaming. Some of the night terrors he could understand – they were images of the events of last term: the dead unicorn in the forest, a hulking troll with a raised club, Ron with his head bleeding – knocked unconscious by a massive chest set, and Voldemort… Voldemort's face leering from the back of Quirrell's head, Voldemort's gleaming red eyes, Voldemort grasping his wrists, and his head bursting with pain…

Other times, the nightmares were about his current worries. His sadness that his friends seemed to have forgotten him in the time they'd been apart, his frustration with his lack of distraction at the Dursleys, the contemptuous way in which he was always treated there.

And sometimes… sometimes the dreams were just odd. Flashes of an old and creepy forest he didn't recognise, unending and unendurable solitude; coldness, darkness, and anger. When he woke from these dreams, he could scarcely remember them. The details seemed to sieve from his mind as he regained awareness. And yet, they were the dreams that almost always left him the most rattled.

Most unfortunately, his aunt and uncle had been awoken on more than one occasion by Harry's nightmares. Several times that week he started awake to his Aunt Petunia pounding on the door, or Uncle Vernon roughly shaking his shoulders until he woke and quieted. They were _exceedingly_ unhappy with him at the moment. After four nights in a row of disturbed sleep, his aunt had actually forced him to drink five tablespoons of some disgusting medicine at bedtime – a cold medication, Harry thought it was – which she hoped would keep him too deeply asleep for dreams. Whether it was because of his wizard blood or because of the intensity of the dreams Harry wasn't sure, but the medicine hadn't worked. He'd still screamed through the night, only this time his relatives had had to resort to dumping cold water over his face before they were able to wake him. Uncle Vernon was angrier than ever, and Harry hadn't been medicated again.

And so it was to a generally sleep-deprived household and a state of increased tension that the Masons were due to come that evening.

Harry's uncle sat him down in the kitchen at half seven, already dressed in his dinner things, and with an expression of barely-concealed fury on his face.

'I'm warning you now, boy,' he said, shaking an admonitory finger in Harry's face, 'They'll be no funny business tonight. You know what's at stake here – this could be the deal of my career! You'll stay shut up in that room and not make a sound, you hear me?'

Harry nodded, 'Yes, Uncle Vernon.'

Vernon grunted, and passed Harry a plate from the icebox. Harry saw that it contained a few slices of bread, a hunk of rather old-looking cheese, and some grapes.

'Take that upstairs then, boy, and _stay there_ until the Masons have gone.'

Harry nodded quickly, took the plate of proffered food, and scurried up the stairs to his bedroom. He closed the door and began to eat, finishing the meagre portion quickly. He left the empty plate on the desk for now – he'd have to take it down when the guests had left. He heard the bell ring just as he'd settled onto his bed, having selected a book of Dudley's from the untouched shelves along the wall to occupy his time. From downstairs, he could make out a lilting, fake laugh from Aunt Petunia and the sounds of pleasantries being exchanged, growing fainter as the Masons were (presumably) ushered into the siting room for cocktails. He sighed – it was going to be a long evening, and he'd have to be sure not to fall asleep while there were other people in the house… Uncle Vernon was apt to _kill_ him if he had an episode of night terror while they had dinner guests. He tried instead to focus on the book he'd taken from the shelf – a thick book of fairy stories, he thought it was. But the droll descriptions of magic in the pages could hardly live up to the real thing. It just made him miss Hogwarts even more.

An hour or so later, when the noises from downstairs had faded into the softer, more broken notes of conversation over the dinner table, Harry's eyes began to drift shut…

 _Crack!_

The sudden noise, followed instantly and horribly by the sound of a shattering plate, shook Harry abruptly from the beginnings of slumber. His eyes snapping open, Harry saw with horror that his discarded dinner plate had fallen from the desk and smashed on the wooden floor. He snapped his gaze immediately to the door and strained his ears. The sounds of dinner continued, mercifully uninterrupted.

'Harry Potter, sir!' came a squeaky voice, drawing Harry's attention back to the room.

For the first time, he realised _why_ the plate had fallen to the floor. Perched on top of the desk was the strangest creature Harry had ever seen. Two feet high and draped some sort of dirty looking rag, with long pointed ears, mottled brown skin, and familiar, bulbous green eyes.

 _This_ was who – or… was it what? – had been watching him through the hedge.

'Wha – Who are you?' Harry asked in a whisper, staring at the odd creature in naked shock. The little thing was ringing its hands, and gazing at Harry with tears welling in its eyes.

'I is Dobby, sir, Dobby the House-elf. And I is _so_ happy to be meeting the great Harry Potter, sir!' The little elf squeaked, rather loudly. Harry shushed him, flapping his hand in panic.

'Umm, right, Dobby?' Harry asked for clarification. The elf nodded eagerly. 'Look, I don't mean to sound rude but… this is a really bad time for me to have… er, guests,' he said, gesturing toward the door. 'I live with my aunt and uncle, see, and they have people for dinner at the moment…' He trailed off as the little elf's ears drooped in sadness.

'Dobby tries not to bring trouble, Harry Potter, sir. But Dobby has to see him. Dobby must warn Harry Potter –'

'Warn me?' said Harry, still in a whisper, but now with some curiosity, 'Warn me about what? Where did you come from, exactly?'

Dobby shook his head, hopping off the desk and stepping a bit closer to Harry. 'Ah, sir, Dobby cannot. Dobby cannot say too much, sir. But he had to come. Harry Potter is in danger! Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts!' As he finished his speech, the elf threw himself at Harry's feet, staring up at him with pleading eyes.

'Not – not go back to Hogwarts?' Harry repeated, completely nonplussed. 'But, I have to go back!' he hissed at the elf, 'I have to! I have lessons, and it's my home. I don't belong here with – with these people. I belong at Hogwarts, in your world!'

Dobby shook his head, grasping at his ears and twisting them in misery. 'Ah no, sir. No. Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts this year! It is too dangerous!'

'Dangerous?' Harry repeated, 'Dangerous how?' The elf was biting his lip, seeming to consider his words carefully. Harry found himself feeling sorry for the odd creature. 'Why don't you sit down, Dobby?'

If possible, the elf looked even more pathetic. He burst into hysterical tears. 'Sit down!' he wailed, 'Sit down! Dobby has never been asked to sit down, Harry Potter sir, not by a wizard – not like an equal!' Dobby began to beat his hands on the floor in a sort of rapturous misery. Harry tried to both comfort and quiet him as he heard the conversation below falter.

'Shh, Dobby,' he said desperately, 'You don't have to sit if you don't want to. But my uncle… we have to keep quiet.'

The little elf bit down on his lip to stop the noise of his crying, and slowly pulled himself together again, standing straight to look Harry in the eyes. 'There is a plot, Harry Potter, sir,' he said seriously. 'A plot to make terrible things happen at Hogwarts this year. Harry Potter must not go back!'

Harry shook his head, taking a step back from Dobby. 'I can't stay here, Dobby. I have to go back. My lessons, my friends…'

He broke off, his thoughts drifting bitterly to Ron and Hermione's silence this summer.

'Friends that don't even write Harry Potter, sir?' Dobby asked, an odd look in his eye.

'Well, I'm sure they've been…'

Harry stopped, catching sight of the half-guilty, half-hopeful expression on Dobby's face.

'Hang on a moment,' he said, advancing on Dobby again. 'How did _you_ know that my friends haven't written? Have you done something with my post?'

Dobby backed away, looking panicky. 'Dobby had to, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby thought if Harry Potter thought his friends had forgotten him, then Harry Potter would listen to Dobby. That Harry Potter would not want to go back to school.' At the furious look on Harry's face, Dobby hurried on. 'Dobby has Harry Potter's letters here, sir,' he said, pulling a stack of parchment from a crevice of his rags, 'And Dobby will give them to Harry Potter. But Harry Potter must promise Dobby that he will not go back to school first, sir. Dobby must be sure that Harry Potter will stay safe!'

Harry made a wild grab for the letters, but Dobby danced out of reach. He straightened up and looked the elf straight in the eye. 'I can't promise that Dobby. I have to go back. Now, give me my letters!' He dove for the elf once more, but Dobby shot past him and flung open the door. Enraged, Harry sprang out the room in pursuit.

The elf tore down the steps and into the front hall. Harry followed, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible even while he raced after Dobby's little figure. The elf darted into the kitchen. Harry swore under his breath but followed suit, then froze in horror as he caught sight of the scene before him.

Dobby stood crouched on the end of the counter, Harry's letters still clutched in one long-fingered hand, the other pointing across the kitchen at the island countertop. The giant, beautifully-crafted pudding Aunt Petunia had made for that evening was floating in mid-air, apparently spelled to hover by the little elf. Harry eased toward it, very slowly. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

'No Dobby,' he pleaded, his voice barely a hiss, trying desperately to avoid his aunt and uncle's notice from the other room. The elf turned to look at him, keeping one hand trained on the pudding.

'Harry Potter must promise Dobby,' he said again, a pleading look in his eyes. 'Harry Potter must _swear_ that he is not going to go back to Hogwarts this year!'

Harry stared, wide-eyed and defeated. 'I can't do that, Dobby,' he said at last. The little elf gave a tearful sigh.

'Then Dobby _must_ do it sir. Dobby must. For Harry Potter's own good.'

And with a snap of his fingers, he let the pudding fall.

Harry made a desperate leap to catch it, but he was much too far away. With an ear-splitting crash, the pudding fell five feet to the ground. The heavy dish it had been set on rolled in circles on the kitchen floor, adding to the din, and Harry was covered head to foot in sugared violets and clotted cream. He whipped around to glare furiously at Dobby but, with a second loud _crack!_ , the elf had vanished. Moments later, the door to the dining room flew open, and Uncle Vernon's purpling face took in the scene.

Harry remained on the floor, frozen in fear and horror, while he listened to his aunt try to shoo the shocked Masons and a sneering Dudley back into the dining room. Vernon waited until everyone had been seated again before closing the door quietly and approaching Harry. He bent down to hiss in his ear.

' _I warned you boy_ ,' Vernon spat furiously. 'I _warned_ you. You had better hope your little stunt didn't spoil everything, or I swear to God this is the last night you'll live to see!'

Harry shuddered, but didn't dare open his mouth. He stood in silence while his uncle re-joined the party and his aunt bustled back into the room, handed him a mop, and dug out some ice cream to serve their guests. He mopped the floor with shaking hands, did his best to wash himself up in the kitchen basin, and was just headed back to his bedroom when it happened.

Through the open door to the patio swooped a large, tawny owl. It flew straight into the sitting room, dropped its missive, and took off again through an open window. The letter, most unfortunately, fell directly on top of a shrieking Mrs Mason. She tore from the house in a state of high panic, screaming all the way to the car. Mr Mason looked disdainfully down at Uncle Vernon, fetching his coat as he informed them that his wife was mortally afraid of birds, and wished them an ironic 'Good evening!' as he too took his leave. Harry knew that any hope Uncle Vernon might have had for business dealings with the Masons had most certainly left with them. Just as he knew his uncle would think it was most certainly his fault.

Vernon watched the Masons pull out of the driveway then rounded on Harry, actually shaking with rage. He stomped toward him with the letter in hand, and shoved it into Harry's grip.

'Open. It.'

Harry did, his fingers trembling on the edges of the parchment. It wasn't greetings from Ron and Hermione.

The letter was from the Ministry of Magic – an official warning for using a hover charm underage, inside a Muggle dwelling. Worst of all for Harry, the letter reminded him that he was not to use magic outside of school before the age of seventeen, and that any further use of magic on his part could be cause for a disciplinary hearing. Uncle Vernon snatched it out of his hands almost as soon as Harry reached the signature line, and read it quickly himself, his eyes gleaming in vindictive pleasure as he finished.

'So,' he said, advancing on Harry as he crumpled the finished letter, 'So… you're not allowed to use magic outside of school, then? Failed to mention _that_ , didn't you, boy? Slipped your mind, I dare say?'

Harry swallowed, long experience warning him that his uncle was often at his most dangerous when his fury reached the point where he spoke so softly, rather than bellowing in anger. He backed farther toward the stairs, but didn't answer.

'Well,' continued Vernon, 'Well… we'll be making some changes around here then, won't we? You're never going back to that freak school – _never_! You'll be lucky if I let you out of that room before Christmas!'

He stood over Harry now, and Harry visibly trembled with fear. He turned to head up to his room and solitude, but Uncle Vernon grabbed his wrist painfully and whipped his nephew around to face him again.

'And this,' he said ominously, raising his other arm while keeping Harry's wrist in a vice-like grip, 'is for your behaviour this evening!'

And he brought the arm swinging down, slapping Harry hard across the face.

Harry yelped in pain and shock, his glasses flying from his nose and skittering across the hall as he crumpled down on the third step, clutching at his cheek with the hand Uncle Vernon wasn't grasping. Vernon released his other arm with a shove, and turned to go back toward the kitchen, where Aunt Petunia stood in the door with a glass of brandy at the ready. Taking it from her, he looked back once more at Harry, kicking the fallen spectacles toward their owner.

'To bed, boy. I'll deal with you further tomorrow.'

Harry stood shakily and bent to pick up his glasses. His cheek was throbbing, and his nose felt runny. Swiping the back of his hand at it, he saw he was bleeding. He stared at the streak of scarlet for a moment, in a sort of fascinated horror, then chanced a glance at the kitchen doorway. His aunt and uncle had both disappeared. Tearfully, Harry turned for the staircase again, and made his way up to bed.


	3. Dumbledore

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 3: Dumbledore**

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, surreptitiously caressed the wood of his desk with one slender hand, tuning out the argument taking place in front of him. Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape were both among his favourite people in the world… separately. Though at times their interactions could be amusing, and he would even venture a guess that most of their squabbling was really in good fun (for Minerva, at least), at other times their bickering could turn unaccountably nasty.

Today's… _discussion_ … fell into the latter category.

It seemed that Lucius Malfoy had offered to make a donation to the school. Well, to Slytherin House, anyway. He had informed Severus that morning that he intended to purchase the Slytherin team a set of brand new Nimbus 2001 broomsticks – a gift, he claimed, born of a desire to see the team remain top of the Hogwarts league next year. It escaped nobody's notice that the Slytherin seeker had graduated last month, leaving a vacancy for Lucius' quidditch-minded son. Severus had accepted the offer immediately.

Minerva was in a high temper.

'- Completely out of line, Severus, and an unbelievable slap in the face to the rest of the school!' she continued to rant at the Potions master. 'Favouritism, plain and simple, and it gives such an unfair advantage when you consider the rest of the teams will –'

'And what,' Snape sneered back, his silky voice cool and disdainful, 'Would you call your indulgence of Potter last year, Minerva? Would you not call _that_ favouritism? Did bending the _rules_ for Potter not advantage _your_ players last season?'

Minerva coloured, but recovered quickly. 'A completely different matter, Severus. Allowing one child to play a year early hardly seems comparable to allowing a boy to _purchase_ a place on his house team! Not to mention the broomsticks for the others.'

'He has not been placed on the team yet, Minerva,' said Snape snidely. 'And I hardly think _you_ would want to quibble over inappropriate broomstick purchases. After the stunt you pulled last year?'

Minerva bristled immediately. 'Stunt, Severus? I have _no_ idea what you are referring to!'

Snape's lip curled. 'Why, the broomstick you procured for Mr Potter to play, Minerva. I seem to recall that the Nimbus _2000_ was the top of the line broomstick last autumn.'

Minerva blushed again, and shot a look at Albus, who was still studying his desk as he listened to the conversation with a serene expression.

'That…' She hesitated. 'That was not of my doing, Severus.' she said at last, pulling herself up and smoothing her bun back into place. Severus sneered and opened his mouth to continue the accusation, but Albus decided to intervene.

'No, indeed,' he said lightly, sitting back in his chair and gesturing that the two professors should be seated as well. 'I am afraid that particular show of favouritism was mine.' He smiled slightly at the pair as Minerva seated herself primly on the edge of the sofa, and Severus sputtered in rage and surprise while he remained on his feet. Albus offered no apology.

'Headmaster –' Severus began, but Albus cut him off with one raised hand.

'Sit down, please, Severus, and let us have an end to this argument. It seems unlikely we shall resolve the disagreement this evening, and anyway, what is done is done.' Severus still looked mutinous, but he took a seat in the proffered armchair without further comment. Albus rose from his desk and swept across the room to join the professors in the sitting area. 'Some tea would do, I think,' he said, raising his wand and giving a cheerful wave. A full tea set appeared before them immediately, spinning itself horizontal and landing with a soft clatter of china on the little table.

'I'll be mother,' he continued, reaching for the pot and giving the two teachers a wink. Severus rolled his eyes, but accepted a cup of sugared tea from the headmaster without comment. Minerva's lips remained pursed, but twitched slightly as she too took a cup and saucer.

Albus smiled at the pair, and relaxed into his seat with his own cup. The three sipped in silence for a minute, and Albus could see the tension in the room start to dissipate.

'I always find that a nice cup of tea soothes the temper wonderfully,' he said mildly over the rim of his cup. Minerva gave him a withering look, but Severus suddenly paused with his half-drunk cup partway to his mouth, considered the beverage, and sniffed at the steam suspiciously. He turned a half-hearted glare on the headmaster.

'Calming Draught,' he accused Albus, 'Really, headmaster?'

Albus' smile widened a little, but he did not validate the accusation further. 'So, tell me,' he said, setting his own cup back in the saucer, 'What are your intentions for the remainder of the summer, Severus?'

Severus continued to scowl, but answered nonetheless. 'I shall stay here, Albus. I wish to conduct some additional research into the Wolfsbane variant we discussed. With the brats gone for 10 weeks yet, I should be able to get a fair amount of work completed.'

Minerva gave a snort, but otherwise let the comment lie. Albus' eyes twinkled. 'An excellent idea, Severus. I'm sure the variant would benefit many if you were able to reduce the side effects of the current potion further.' Severus inclined his head in acknowledgement. Albus turned his attention to Minerva. 'And you, my dear? Are you hoping to take any time away this summer?'

Minerva crossed her legs and balanced her saucer in her hand. 'I will probably visit my nieces next week, while you are at the International Confederation of Wizards Conference,' she said. 'But otherwise I shall be here for the duration of the summer.'

Albus smiled at her. 'Of course. Please give Ophelia and Marguerite my best. It has been too long since last I saw them.'

Minerva nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but at that moment they were interrupted by the rap of an owl on the study window. Three heads turned at once to the glass, and Albus stood quickly to open it.

'At this hour, Albus?' Minerva asked with a frown. 'Who on earth could that be from?'

Albus did not reply immediately, but detached the letter from the owl's leg with curiosity. He recognised the official seal as he turned over the envelope.

'It seems it's from the Ministry,' he said, sliding a finger to break the wax. 'Though it is rather odd that Fudge would choose an owl over the floo, if he had such an urgent need to speak with me.' He unfolded the parchment, and quickly scanned the letter, his brow contracting as he took in the contents.

'Well?' Severus asked with a bite of impatience. 'What does the old fool want now?'

Dumbledore refolded the letter and returned to the table, handing it to Minerva. 'Nothing,' he said, addressing them both. 'The letter is from Mafalda, in the Mis-use of Magic office. She writes that a hover charm was performed this evening at Number 4, Privet Drive.'

Both Severus and Minerva – who had finished scanning the letter for herself – looked sharply at the headmaster.

'Potter.' Severus sneered. 'So typical that he would flout the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. And not even two weeks into the holiday as well.' Minerva bristled, but Snape continued on before she could interject. 'But why have the Ministry sent the letter to you, Albus? Surely the boys' guardians are the ones to be told, since school is not in session at the moment.'

'Ah,' Albus said with a nod, 'I'm sure they received a letter as well, Severus. But I retained some level of guardianship over Harry when I left him with his relatives.' Seeing the look of surprise, Albus continued to explain; 'Not physical guardianship, obviously, but I am to be informed of any concerns or issues with Harry at all times – whether he is at Hogwarts or not. As I am sure you understand, the situation is delicate, and Harry may come to need a little extra attention if… things change, in future.'

Severus looked as though he would have liked to protest, but kept his mouth shut. He crossed his arms and scowled at the table instead.

'This doesn't seem very like Harry, Albus.' Minerva said, worrying the parchment in her hand. 'Do you think we ought to look into it?'

'Oh spare us, Minerva,' Severus spat in disgust. 'If you honestly think –'

' _I_ think,' said Albus, quelling the argument before it could erupt, 'That for the time being, we should let it lie. After all, Harry is hardly the first student to forget himself and slip over the summer,' he said firmly. 'I am sure he will have received the warning, and I am certain he will use more restraint in future.' Severus gave a huff of disagreement, but otherwise remained silent. Albus glanced down and saw that the tea was gone. He stood once more.

'I think perhaps we ought to turn in for the night,' he said to the teachers. 'It is late, and we could all use a little rest.'

Severus nodded and took to his feet. 'Goodnight, headmaster, Minerva,' he said, inclining his head to each of them and heading for the door. Albus watched him go, then kissed Minerva softly on the cheek in farewell.

'Goodnight, Minnie,' he said. Minerva patted him on the shoulder and left as well, blushing lightly. Albus doused the lamps in the study, and headed off for bed.

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Morning came quickly, and Albus was to be found by nine sitting once again in his study, perusing a daunting pile of paperwork. He was preparing for the annual International Confederation of Wizards' conference. This year's agenda was particularly burdensome, as the committee was considering the placement of giant communities in the mountains of southern Germany – a policy which had sparked a series of heated debates and delicate negotiations. Personally, Albus felt the position the ICW had adopted was far too harsh. He grew nervous at the idea that their fellow magical creatures may have good reason to turn their backs on the wizarding establishment, especially when one considered that there were wizards out there – biding their time – who might court such communities with far more palatable options. Setting such a precedent now could have dire consequences in future.

Albus was halfway through the drafting of his proposed alternative when a booming knock on the office door interrupted his train of thought. He set down his quill and called for the visitor to enter, smiling a bit at the irony as the gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, sidled through the door.

'Ah, good morning, Hagrid,' he said in greeting.

'Mornin' Professor Dumbledore, sir,' Hagrid answered. He smiled, but the cheer did not quite reach his eyes.

'What is it, Hagrid? Can I help with something?' Albus asked, curious and a little concerned by the serious look on the gamekeeper's face.

'Well, professor, I was comin' here ter ask if it'd be alrigh' fer me ter put a lit'le flesh-eatin' slug repellen' round me pumpkin patch. I'm thinkin' I'll haf ter get it in Knockturn Alley, an' I wouldn' want ter go without lettin' yeh know first, sir.'

Albus smiled at him. 'Of course, Hagrid. That shouldn't be a problem.' Hagrid nodded, but remained, wringing his hands nervously. The headmaster gave him a penetrating look. 'Was there something else, Hagrid?'

Hagrid looked hesitant, but at last spoke. 'Well, there was, actually, sir. Yeh see, I weren' goin' ter say nothin'… but I'm gettin' worried…' He trailed off again. Albus waited, looking expectantly back at him.

'Yeh see,' Hagrid continued, 'I've been writin' ter Harry – Harry Potter – a fair few times this summer… but so far he's not written back. I thought at first it migh' jus be me – yeh know – maybe he don' haf time ter get back ter every let'er… but I wrote ter Ron and Hermione, and both o' em said they've not heard from Harry neither.' Hagrid finished, giving a helpless shrug of his shoulders. 'I was thinkin' maybe I oughta go check on 'im. Make sure the Muggles aren't gettin' 'im down or nothin.'

Albus leaned back in his chair, considering what Hagrid had told him. He was a bit concerned himself, especially with the news from the Ministry last night. Maybe a short trip to Surrey wouldn't go amiss? He probably ought to check in with Harry himself, after everything that had happened in June. He considered Hagrid over the tips of his fingers, pressed together in front of his mouth.

'Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Hagrid,' he said finally. 'I assure you, I will look into the situation.'

Hagrid looked relieved, his shoulders relaxing.

'Righ' then. Thanks, professor,' he said, turning to head out again.

Albus watched him go, sifting through his thoughts. He attempted to turn back to the work before him, but a nagging preoccupation kept his focus from the paperwork. After an hour's lack of productivity, Albus sighed and gave it up as a bad job, leaving the paperwork on the desk and heading for the fireplace. Pinching a bit of floo powder, he called for Minerva at the hearth.

'I'm going out for an hour or two,' he said when her face appeared in the flames. 'Keep an eye on things here, if you would. I shouldn't be long.'

Minerva looked puzzled, but nodded in assent without pressing him for the details. Albus was grateful – he didn't want to make a fuss of the situation. Closing the connection, he returned to his chambers briefly for his travelling cloak, and headed out of the office.

The walk to the edge of the grounds was invigorating – the sunshine easing the tension and worry that had plagued him since Hagrid's visit. He was certain he was over-reacting; that everything in Surrey would be fine when he arrived. Still, Albus would feel better if he saw proof for himself that Harry was well. Passing through the wrought iron gates, he fastened his cloak more securely, turned on the spot, and vanished.

He reappeared at the end of the path to Number 4, Privet Drive, landing soundlessly. Although it was only a little past noon and week-end, the house appeared empty. All the curtains facing the street had been drawn, and the car was missing from the front of the house.

Albus sighed. Perhaps he ought to try again tomorrow.

He thought to disapparate but, before he could complete the turn, an odd sound reached his ears. A sort of faint whimpering… and it seemed to be coming from the house in front of him. Puzzled and concerned, Albus abandoned all thoughts of departure and instead headed for the front door.

It was locked.

He tapped the handle with the tip of the wand concealed in his sleeve. The door sprang open.

Albus could hear the whimpering more insistently now, coming from somewhere on the first floor. He made quickly for the staircase, and followed the noise to a doorway at the end of the corridor on the right. He froze, taking in the door itself. There were no less than six locks barring it shut – a myriad of chains and padlocks containing whatever, or whomever, lay beyond. With trepidation, Albus pulled his wand again and waved each one open. The door swung inward as the final lock gave way, and Albus stepped into the room.

The room had a depressed sort of air, like it wasn't often used; or perhaps wasn't often loved. The small window against one wall had curtains pulled tight, keeping the room in semi-darkness. On a small desk in the corner sat a very familiar snowy owl. She hooted at Albus immediately as he entered, her amber eyes wide and pleading.

But Albus' gaze was drawn at once to the little bed along the far wall.

Under a threadbare blanket, a child's form could be seen, tossing and turning in restless repose. The child appeared to be sleeping, and yet he was unmistakably crying. Albus would recognise that untidy shock of black hair in any crowd. He hurried for the boy's side.

'Harry!' he called as he reached the bed. The child lay facing the opposite wall, his back to Albus, and Albus grasped the upturned shoulder as he tried to shake Harry awake. 'Harry, wake up!' he tried again, shaking more vigorously.

Harry suddenly stiffened beneath him, and then his eyes popped open. He turned onto his back, looking dazed, and fumbled with one hand for his glasses on the night table. Placing them on his face, the child pushed himself up with a little effort until he was sitting up against the headboard.

'Pro – Professor Dumbledore, sir?' he said, sounding both confused and a bit embarrassed to find the headmaster beside him. 'Er – what are you –'

But Albus cut him off, reaching with a slightly trembling hand for the boy's face. He hadn't noticed until the child awoke…

Taking Harry's chin tenderly between his thumb and forefinger, he turned his face gently to better see the opposite side. His cheek was puffy and purpling with bruise; swollen easily to twice its normal size. Harry was having to squint through that eye where the swelling had forced it partly shut, and Albus could see a deeper red stripe along the corner of his ocular bone that looked as though it might have been made by the arm of his glasses pressing sharply against the skin. He stared for a moment in horror, and then the room itself began to chill as Albus Dumbledore was taken with a terrible, blinding fury.

'Harry,' he said softly, looking straight into the child's tear-filled green eyes, 'Who did this to you?'


	4. An Early Return

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 4: An Early Return**

Harry stared up into the headmaster's face; still hardly daring to believe he was there, and more than a little embarrassed to have been found cowering in bed in the middle of the day. With Dumbledore griping his chin, he could not look away from those penetrating blue eyes. They seemed to bore into his soul as the professor waited for an answer. Harry swallowed nervously.

'It's nothing, professor,' he said, quietly, 'It was just an accident.'

The headmaster's eyes grew sad. He did not take his eyes from Harry, nor did he release his grip on the boy's chin. 'Harry,' he said, softly, 'This injury was not an accident. Tell me, child, who has hurt you?'

Harry swallowed again. On the one hand, he _wanted_ to tell Dumbledore. He wanted to _scream_ at the injustice of the whole situation. On the other hand, he knew the professor was probably here because of the warning from the Ministry. He was probably already angry because he thought Harry had used magic outside Hogwarts. And he didn't want to get himself into further trouble.

But Dumbledore was sitting there expectantly, and Harry didn't see a way out other than the truth.

'My Uncle Vernon, sir,' he said quietly.

Dumbledore released his chin, nodding once, his eyes still reflecting that cold fury that had taken residence when he first saw Harry's face. In one graceful movement, he stood from the bed and swept his wand around the room. The doors to Harry's little wardrobe sprang open, the drawers of the chest and desk popped out, and the tiny lock on Hedwig's cage flung itself across the room and pinged off the wall. Harry stared.

'Gather your things,' Professor Dumbledore said calmly to Harry. 'I am taking you from this place today.'

Harry scrambled out of bed at once, a little red-faced. He felt both elated at the prospect of leaving the Dursleys and a bit nervous to go with the headmaster. He was halfway to the open wardrobe when he remembered about his trunk. He turned toward Dumbledore again.

'Er, professor?' he ventured.

'Yes, Harry?'

'Well, my uncle… he didn't want me to use my school things, you see,' Harry said, worrying a frayed corner of his tee-shirt between his fingers as he spoke. 'So he packed them away. I think they're locked in my – in the cupboard. Under the stairs.' His face reddened a bit further at his almost-slip-of-the-tongue.

Dumbledore's eyebrows seemed to contract a bit, but otherwise he made no specific mention of the cupboard or Harry's obvious discomfort. 'That is not a problem. I will retrieve your things from downstairs. Gather what you need from this room and meet me in the front hall when you are ready. I shall take your owl with me now.'

Harry nodded, and began hurrying around the room as Dumbledore swept through the door, taking Hedwig with him. In less than five minutes he had retrieved what clothing he had in the bedroom and pulled the photo album of his parents that Hagrid had given him from under the loose floorboard beneath the bed. He did a quick sweep to ensure he had everything, and then hurried down the stairs to meet Dumbledore.

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Albus left Harry's bedroom with the snowy owl, sweeping quickly down the staircase. He could feel his magic reflecting his fury – a pulsating aura of tension that longed for release. He tried to tamp it down so as not to frighten Harry, but he thought personally that Vernon Dursley was incredibly fortunate to have been out when Albus came to call. His control had not wavered in nearly seventy years, but at the moment he would not have bet on his own self-discipline in the presence of that Muggle. The feeling gave him a new appreciation for the terrible, destructive anger his own father had displayed so many years ago.

Reaching the front hall, he opened the metal door of the owl's cage and allowed her to fly out. She gave a satisfied hoot as she stretched her wings, hovering for a few moments before landing on Albus's shoulder and nipping affectionately at his ear. He smiled at the snowy owl, and stroked the tuft of feathers on her head.

'We are headed back to Hogwarts,' he whispered to her. 'Would you like to fly there?' She gazed at him for a moment through sage amber eyes, before hooting in seeming assent. Albus nodded, and opened the front door again. 'We shall see you there, then.'

The owl tightened her grip momentarily on his shoulder, then launched herself into the open air, streaking off to the north. Albus watched her fly out of sight before shutting the door again. He turned to find the cupboard that Harry had mentioned. The cupboard that seemed to draw a curious reaction from the child.

He saw a little door set into the wall under the stairs. That must be it.

Approaching, Albus could see that another set of padlocks barred entry to the cupboard. These locks looked older than those on Harry's door had been. The place had a feel of darkness – a deep sense of sadness and hardship that seemed inapposite with an innocuous storage space. Dispelling the locks with a wave of his wand, Albus pulled the little door ajar and bent to peer inside.

He saw the trunk immediately, pushed up against one wall. But the trunk was not the only item in the cupboard. In one corner lay a pile of mangy blankets, a few rags that looked like they had once been children's clothing, and a mouldy old pillow. Several broken toys rested forgotten on the floor, and a small shelf at the front of the cupboard held two or three crayon drawings done by a child's untidy hand. The sight gave Albus an ominous feeling of nausea, and he was suddenly certain he did not want to know _why_ the place had evoked such a profound reaction from Harry.

Shaking himself, Albus pointed his wand at the Hogwarts trunk and levitated it out into the hall. He shut the door to the cupboard again, just as he heard Harry making his way down the stairs. He turned to see the child hurrying toward him, a small pile of clothing and a photo album in his arms. Albus released the lock on the trunk and helped Harry unburden his hands, then shut the lid of the trunk again.

'Is there anything else you need to retrieve?' he asked Harry politely.

Harry shook his head. 'No sir, that's everything.'

Albus nodded, and drew his wand. 'Then I shall send your trunk and the cage to await us. Your owl has already started on the journey.' He pointed his wand at the trunk and empty cage, and vanished them with a quick wave. 'If you would take my arm, Harry, I will apparate us both.' He held out his right arm to Harry, but the child didn't move.

'Er, Professor Dumbledore?' Harry said, looking nervous again, 'What about my aunt and uncle? Shouldn't I tell them that I'm leaving? I mean,' he put in quickly, 'I know they'll be really pleased to let me go. Well, pleased I won't be staying longer, at least. But they'll be furious if they get back and I'm not here…'

Albus smiled. 'Do not worry. I will return later to – _explain_ – things to them myself. Or, perhaps, I shall send Professor McGonagall.'

The thought of Minerva's face when she saw Harry's sent chills down his own spine. In some ways, he privately felt Vernon Dursley would be luckier to receive a visit from himself than the Gryffindor matriarch. He stepped closer to Harry.

'We will work everything out with your relatives. But for now, I want to get you away from here and take a closer look at that bruise. It needs a salve, at the very least, and I think we had better check to make sure nothing is more seriously damaged.'

Harry's face grew red with embarrassment again. 'It's not that bad, sir,' he mumbled. 'It barely aches anymore.'

Albus smiled a little sadly at him. 'Even so,' he insisted, holding out his arm again. Harry moved to take it, still looking uncertain.

'What is it to "apparate," sir?' he asked with a bit of apprehension, still looking at the proffered arm with his own hand outstretched, but not quite taking it.

'It is a method of travelling, Harry,' Albus explained patiently. 'Apparition allows wizards to disappear – or "disapparate" – from one location and appear – or "apparate" – nearly instantly at another location. It is a difficult technique to learn and requires a nearly mature magical core to manage, which is why it is restricted by the Ministry to those over the age of seventeen, and even then only to witches or wizards who pass a Ministry test. It is possible, however, for a licenced wizard to take another person with him when he apparates, even where the companion is unable to perform apparition himself. To do so is called "side-along apparition." That is how I will be taking you with me.'

Harry nodded, and finally took Albus's arm. 'And where are we going, sir?' he asked as he grasped Albus's forearm with his much-smaller hand.

'To Hogwarts.' Albus answered, with a smile. 'Hold tightly to my arm, Harry. The sensation can be a bit shocking when you are unused to it.' He waited for the child to nod his understanding, then turned on the spot, vanishing them both into the compressing nothingness.

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Harry felt immediately as though he was being squeezed through a straw. Everything around him seemed to compress. He couldn't breathe; he couldn't see. It was all he could do to keep from panicking and redouble his vice-like grip on the headmaster's arm. He felt like he was being propelled forward at breakneck speed, the world around him tumbling into chaotic blackness, until he couldn't tell which way was up, or where the ground was, or indeed if there _was_ a ground at all.

Almost as soon as the sensation began, however, it ended. Harry's feet slammed into hard earth, and he felt himself pitch forward as his hold on Dumbledore's arm was broken. Before he could fall face-first to the ground, the headmaster caught him by the shoulder and steadied him on his feet.

'Are you alright?' Dumbledore asked solicitously, maintaining the hand on his shoulder.

Harry nodded, but did not speak, as he drew great gulps of air into his lungs, which had felt so recently flattened. Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled kindly down at him.

'It does take some getting used to,' he said in explanation, watching as Harry fought to regain composure. 'But it is by far the fastest way to travel.'

Harry felt his bearings return after a few moments, and straightened up. Looking around, he recognised their location. Before him stood the tall iron gates of Hogwarts, topped with winged boars. Harry could see the beautiful castle set atop the hill, its grounds a rich myriad of summer greens and blooming flowers. It seemed a bit too quiet without the usual bustle of students, but the sight still filled Harry with a sense of belonging and welcome that warmed his very soul. He felt instantly more at ease.

'We cannot apparate directly into the castle,' Dumbledore offered in further explanation, 'Because the ancient wards on the property prevent sudden entry. You cannot apparate or disapparate on the Hogwarts grounds, unless of course the headmaster – that is to say, I – lifts the enchantment from within the castle itself. But it is no matter. In fact, I believe the walk will do both of us some good. Shall we?'

He motioned Harry toward the gates, which sprang open on their approach.

Harry took the invitation and walked alongside him in silence, feeling a bit awkward. He'd never really had a proper conversation with the headmaster, except for that one discussion at the end of last term, when Harry had been in hospital wing. He had great respect for Dumbledore, who was by all accounts the greatest wizard of the age. He felt safe and content in the headmaster's presence, and Dumbledore's kind demeanour did not invite intimidation or fear. And yet, Harry remained unsure what to say now that he was faced with extended time alone with the professor. And he was still unclear as to what, exactly, Dumbledore had planned for him now. Dumbledore kept the hand on his shoulder as they walked, seeming completely at leisure.

As they strode across the grounds at a comfortable pace, the headmaster broke the silence. 'So tell me, Harry,' he began, his eyes twinkling down at the eleven-year-old, 'Have you recovered from your adventure at the end of last term?'

Harry hesitated, thinking fleetingly of the nightmares that had haunted him since his return to the Dursleys'. He thought about mentioning it, but he didn't want the headmaster to think he was weak. 'Yes, sir.' He answered instead.

Dumbledore nodded, although his eyes seemed to convey his understanding. 'I have told you before, Harry, but I am very proud of you. You showed great bravery in the face of evil – a task many grown wizards would have failed dismally. You should be proud of yourself as well.'

Harry nodded, feeling a bit awkward again. They were nearing the castle entrance now. The great oak doors swung open as they approached, and Dumbledore guided him inside. The entrance hall was quiet and empty but for the caretaker's cat, Mrs Norris. She turned her lamp-like yellow eyes on the pair as they entered, causing Harry a moment of instinctive nervousness, but she did not whisk away for Filch as Harry had innately feared. Instead, she watched reproachfully as the headmaster led Harry up the grand staircase.

'We are going to my office, Harry,' the headmaster said as they climbed. 'I'll explain things more fully once we're there. The castle is largely uninhabited for the summer, as I'm sure you can tell, but there are a few professors still in residence.'

Harry nodded, still not commenting. He had a million questions running through his mind, but felt he'd rather wait for Dumbledore's instruction before broaching them.

Professor Dumbledore led Harry up several flights of steps and down a long corridor he'd never explored before coming to a halt in front of a large griffin gargoyle. 'Sherbet Lemon,' he said to the figure. The gargoyle sprang aside, revealing a winding stone staircase. 'After you, Harry.' The headmaster said, gesturing that Harry should precede him onto the steps.

Harry stepped forward onto the staircase, and Dumbledore followed suit. Before he could climb, however, he felt the stone beneath him start to move. To his surprise, the staircase began to spiral on its own, bringing the headmaster and himself slowly upward to an ornately-carved oak door. Dumbledore reached past him to open it, and Harry stepped into a beautiful circular room.

The room was cluttered, but not uncomfortably so. Many silver and crystal instruments lay upon spindly legged tables and on high bookshelves that spanned from floor to ceiling. Gorgeous mullioned windows offered panoramic views of the grounds. An empty golden bird perch sat in one corner next to an imposing polished wood desk. Dumbledore must have an owl; perhaps he was off hunting, or else sleeping in the owlery for the day. On the opposite side of the great room, a few sofas and armchairs were arranged in front of a great fireplace as a sitting area. And in one back corner, Harry could see a second spiral staircase led higher into the tower. He wondered whether Dumbledore's living quarters connected to this office. His eyes were drawn to the wall behind the desk, where dozens of portraits were hung, their occupants seemingly asleep against their frames. As he took in the room, however, his musings were interrupted by hurried footsteps. Someone seemed to be descending the staircase from the upper level.

'Albus?' he heard a woman call, in a familiar Scottish cadence. 'Albus, is that you? I've just run into Hagrid in the grounds. He seemed to think that you were –'

Professor McGonagall broke off as she made her way far enough down the staircase to see the pair standing in the study.

'Goodness!' she said in surprise, her gaze flicking from Harry to Dumbledore, eyebrows raised. 'I see Hagrid's information was correct, then,' she said to Dumbledore, making her way down the last few steps. 'Good afternoon, Potter.'

Harry saw that the Transfiguration professor looked markedly different, out of her usual teaching robes and tightly furled bun. She wore more casual emerald green robes in a light summer weight, and her hair – though still done up neatly – hung in a silky black plait down her back. Harry thought the overall effect made the professor look a bit younger, and much more relaxed, than her usual prim attire. She looked quite at home in the headmaster's study, and Harry wondered if she was often a visitor there during term.

'Good afternoon, ma'am,' Harry replied politely, turning fully to face her. Professor McGonagall drew in a sharp breath, her eyes flying to his swollen cheek.

'Harry!' she hissed, surprising Harry with the use of his first name as she came quickly toward him.

Her hands seemed to hover fretfully above his face – like she was afraid that her touch may hurt him further. After a moment, she rested one hand on his shoulder in a manner similar to the way the headmaster had earlier, then spun to face Dumbledore, her nostrils flared and her eyes tight with fury. Harry didn't think he'd ever seen her so angry. He was actually quite frightened. He noticed Dumbledore take a small step back under McGonagall's furious gaze.

'Albus Dumbledore!' she railed at the headmaster. 'What on earth is this? What has happened to this boy? If this is what I fear it is, after all the warnings I gave –'

'Minnie –' Dumbledore began, his hands palm up, trying to placate her, 'Minnie I swear I –'

'DO NOT "Minnie" me, Albus!' Professor McGonagall shouted, her voice drowning the headmaster's attempt at speech and shaking several startled-looking portraits from their slumber. 'I _told_ you what would happen. I _told_ you they were the worst kind of Muggles. _Why_ you always think you know better amazes me at times. And now see what has happened! If you would just –'

'Minerva.' Dumbledore interrupted again, not quite in a shout, but with a voice of such absolute authority that McGonagall quieted in spite of herself. 'I realise there is much to discuss. But I would rather we did so later, after Harry has been seen to and the immediate situation has been taken care of. Would you, please, check upstairs for a bruise balm and some pain reliever while I examine his cheek?'

Professor McGonagall looked as though she would have liked to continue her rant, but nodded tersely at the headmaster. She squeezed Harry's shoulder once, giving him a tight-lipped smile, then headed back up the spiral staircase again. Dumbledore moved closer, gesturing toward the little sitting area.

'Sit down, Harry,' he said gently, indicating the sofa. Harry sat, perching on the end of the cushion and looking warily up at his headmaster. Dumbledore pulled an ottoman over and took a seat as well, very close to Harry's knees. He peered at Harry through those piercing blue eyes again, holding his gaze as he spoke.

'I am just going to feel the swelling with my hand and then run a quick spell to make sure there is no fracture, alright, Harry?' Dumbledore said. 'I promise I will be gentle.'

Harry nodded nervously, and Dumbledore leaned toward him, tilting Harry's head a bit with one hand. With the other, Dumbledore probed lightly at the cheek, feeling along the bones from his nose to his temple. Harry winced slightly in discomfort.

'I know it hurts,' said the headmaster, sympathetically. 'I'm almost finished.' He put the tip of his wand gently against Harry's temple and muttered a low incantation. Harry felt the wand tip slide across his cheek, which grew hot. He squirmed a little.

'Alright,' said Dumbledore, 'There does seem to be a hairline fracture, Harry, but it is not that deep. Hold still just a moment longer and I will fix it.'

Harry nodded, his eyes wide. He squeezed them shut as Dumbledore brought the wand up again. This time, Dumbledore merely tapped the cheek lightly as he said a spell. Harry felt a brief stab of pain, then both the sharp pain and the ache in his cheek faded instantly. He felt much better.

'Thank you, sir,' he said in relief, as Dumbledore allowed him to sit up.

Dumbledore smiled at him. 'Of course, Harry,' he said. 'My skills in healing do not quite measure up to Madam Pomfrey's, but we should be able to make do.'

At that moment, they heard footsteps on the stairs again, announcing McGonagall's return.

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Albus looked up as Minerva re-entered the room, carrying a small phial. He saw with relief that she had somewhat schooled the expression of fury she had worn when he had sent her upstairs.

'Albus,' she said shortly in greeting. 'I was able to find a pain reliever, but you seem to be out of bruise balm.'

Albus nodded his thanks. 'It is no matter. I will request some fresh. It will probably be more effective, anyway.' He motioned for her to move closer, and she came around to stand beside the sofa. 'Harry,' he said to the boy, 'I want you to take the potion Professor McGonagall has brought, which should get rid of any lingering discomfort. I am going to get some bruise balm for the swelling.'

'It's alright, sir,' Harry said hurriedly. 'It's not really hurting much anymore now you've fixed it.'

Albus shook his head firmly. 'Even so, Harry. I would feel better if you took the potion.'

Harry nodded, and accepted the phial from Minerva. He tipped it back, pulling a face at the taste. Minerva conjured a glass of pumpkin juice so he could wash it down.

'"Fixed it," Albus?' she said in dangerous tones, looking over at Albus while Harry drank the juice. Albus sighed.

'There was a hairline fracture,' he acknowledged, his own voice icy. Minerva bristled at once.

'A _fracture_ –' she began, but Albus cut her off with a pointed look at Harry.

'We will discuss everything later, Minerva. Please stay with Harry for a moment while I call for the bruise balm. Perhaps we could do with tea all around?'

Minerva nodded, the fire still dancing in her eyes. Albus turned for the fireplace, grabbing a pinch of floo powder from the box on the mantle. He knelt to call into the flames.

A moment later, he was looking into Severus's laboratory from the hearth. He could see several simmering cauldrons, and the Potions master himself bent over the largest in a corner of the room.

'Severus,' he called, trying not to startle the man. Severus looked up sharply, caught sight of the headmaster's face in the fire, and looked down into the cauldron again.

'Just a moment, headmaster,' he said. He dropped a few dried bits of herb into the potion he'd been bent over, stirring them in. Albus heard him mutter a statis spell before he stepped away from the work, coming toward the fireplace. 'To what do I owe the pleasure, Albus?'

Albus smiled. 'I find I am out of bruise balm, Severus. I need a jar of your strongest and freshest, if it is not too much trouble.' He thought back for a moment on Harry, thinking of what a long and emotionally stressful day it had been for the child. 'And perhaps a bit of dreamless sleep potion as well,' he added as an afterthought.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

'Are you quite well, headmaster?'

Albus chuckled, 'Oh, perfectly well, thank you, Severus. The potions are not for me.'

Severus looked confused. 'Is Minerva….'

Albus smiled again, his eyes twinkling. 'Minerva is fine as well, Severus. The dosages are for a guest just arrived, in fact. If you could gather them immediately, I will meet you in my office.' Severus still looked puzzled, but nodded once. Albus pulled his head out of the flames.

Returning to his office, Albus found Minerva pouring tea for herself and Harry. She registered his return and set a cup in front of him as well.

'He will be here momentarily,' Albus said in response to Minerva's questioning look.

She nodded, lips still pursed. Albus took a seat and sipped at his tea, watching Minerva and Harry do the same. He saw that Minerva had seated herself on the sofa with Harry, very close to him. He smiled a little to himself at the protective instinct. Harry, on the other hand, looked rather awkward.

After a few minutes, a knock on the door announced Severus' arrival.

'Enter!' Albus called. The door swung inward, and Severus was revealed on the threshold. It took only moments for the predictable reactions to start.

Severus spotted Harry immediately. A brief flicker of surprise crossed his features before he schooled them into a sneer, his eyes narrowing as his lip curled. Harry, for his part, looked nothing less than startled, and a little frightened. He scooted back a few inches on the sofa. Minerva placed a hand reassuringly on his knee. Harry did not look reassured in the slightest.

'Potter!' Severus spat at Harry. 'Still turning up in unexpected places I see. And flouting the Ministry laws as well as school rules now too, are we? How very typical –'

'Severus,' Albus said warningly. 'The bruise balm, if you would.' He held out his hand for the jar, but Severus was not to be deterred. He shot Dumbledore a scathing look as well.

'Headmaster, surely you realise what has been going on. Potter was obviously in an argument with his Muggle friends, and decided to show off with a bit of underage magic! It amazes me that you found it necessary to put yourself to so much extra trouble, just because Potter cannot follow the simplest –'

'It wasn't me, professor,' Harry cut in angrily. 'I didn't cast the spell.'

Severus scoffed.

'Honestly!' Harry insisted, 'It was a house-elf – Dobby, I think his name was.'

'A house-elf.' Severus repeated, his eyebrow raised so high it seemed in danger of disappearing into his greasy hair. 'Really, Headmaster –'

'Thank you, Severus.' Albus said in a quelling voice. Severus looked mutinous but shut his mouth, wordlessly handing the jar of bruise balm over to Albus. 'Take a seat, please, Severus. And have some tea. Harry, why don't you explain to all of us what happened with the hover charm,' he said, smiling down at the child to reassure him that he wasn't in any trouble.

Severus grudgingly sat himself in the seat farthest away from the group. He took the proffered cup from Minerva with ill grace.

Harry sat up a little straighter. 'Last night, sir, my aunt and uncle were hosting a dinner party. They, er, didn't really want me in the way, so they sent me to my room and told me not to make any noise while the Masons – that's the couple that came to dinner – were in the house. I was up in my bedroom when the house-elf arrived. He just popped into the room and landed on the desk – I think it must have been that apparition thing you did with me, sir.'

Albus saw Severus roll his eyes, and Minerva's lips twitched.

'Go on, Harry,' he encouraged.

'Well, he said his name was Dobby, and that he'd come to give me a warning,' Harry said. 'He told me I couldn't go back to Hogwarts this year – that someone had a dangerous plot for the school. I told him I had to go back. He pulled out a pile of letters – he'd been stopping my post!' Harry looked so indignant that Albus nearly smiled, but remembering what Hagrid had told him earlier that morning he sobered at once, keen to hear the rest of the story. Harry paused for a moment, then continued.

'I tried to get the letters from him, but he wouldn't give them to me unless I promised I would stay at the Dursleys and not go back to Hogwarts. He tore out of the room and I followed him. We ended up in the kitchen. He was up on the countertop, and he asked me again to swear I wouldn't come back. When I didn't, he hovered Aunt Petunia's pudding off the island and sent it crashing to the ground. Then he vanished.' Harry shrugged, sipping a bit at his tea. 'Everyone came in from the dining room, but by then it was just me and the mess from the pudding. The owl came a bit later…'

He trailed off with a shiver, lost in the memory.

Albus heard Severus give a tiny snort of disbelief, but he exchanged a calculating look with Minerva. Everything that Harry had said made sense, considering. Albus was much more concerned with whatever supposed danger awaited the school this term than whether Harry had cast a hover charm. But still, the story had left one thing out.

'Was that what caused your uncle's anger, Harry?' he asked quietly, leaning toward the child. Harry looked up, and nodded slowly.

'He was furious,' Harry said softly. 'I don't think he's ever been that angry with me. The Masons were supposed to make some deal with Uncle Vernon – to buy a bunch of drills from his company, I think. But they left right away when the owl came from the Ministry. I think Mrs Mason was frightened by it. I thought Uncle Vernon had gone mad when he came at me after... He's been difficult before, and he screams a lot, but he's never hit me like that. Aunt Petunia had to get him a drink to calm him down.'

Harry shuddered a little. Albus saw Severus stiffen in his chair. He sent him a sharp look.

'It's alright, Harry,' he said to the boy. 'You do not have to return there this summer. I'm going to put a little of this bruise balm on your face, and then I think a short lie-down would do for this afternoon. Professor McGonagall and I will decide on what to do next while you take a rest.'

'I'm not tired, sir,' Harry said quickly. Albus smiled as he unscrewed the cap on the jar of bruise balm.

'I'm sure you are not, my boy, but I think you may feel differently once the excitement of the day wears off. Now, turn your head for a moment and close your eyes, so I can spread this evenly over your cheek.'

He dipped his hand into the paste, and leaned forward toward Harry. He waited for the child's eyes to close, then turned to catch Severus's gaze. He nodded pointedly toward Harry's tea cup. Taking the hint, Severus whipped the little bottle of dreamless sleep out of the pocket of his robes, and poured a small measure into the tea. Minerva topped the cup off with more from the pot, and stirred the potion in while Albus tenderly smoothed the bruise balm into Harry's skin.

'Alright, Harry, you can open your eyes now,' he said as he finished, wiping his hand on a tea towel and resealing the jar. He handed Harry the cup of tea and watched as he drank a bit more. 'Perhaps, later today, you would like to write your friends? I know they have been worried about you.'

Harry brightened at the prospect and nodded eagerly. 'Yes, sir, that would be great!' he said, enthusiastically. He drank a bit more of the tea. The cup was nearly empty, and Harry's eyes were beginning to droop. Albus reached forward and smoothly took the cup from the child's slackened fingers. Harry's eyes popped wide again as he struggled to keep them open.

'Hush, child,' Albus said softly, helping Harry recline against the arm of the sofa while Minerva pulled his legs up onto the cushions. 'Sleep for a bit.'

He brushed the fringe off Harry's forehead, revealing that famous scar. He could tell the boy longed to protest, but the draw to sleep was too strong. In short order, he was lulled into slumber.

For a moment, Albus bent over Harry, watching his peaceful sleep and lost in his own thoughts. He felt Minerva's hand on his arm, and saw she too was watching the child, unshed tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. It was Severus' throat clearing that broke the silence.

'Albus,' said Severus, still seated with his arms crossed in the farthest chair. He was not looking at the headmaster but watching Harry as well, his eyes still narrowed. 'What did Potter mean before? About his uncle?' He swallowed, looking uncomfortable. 'Surely _he_ was not the cause of Potter's injury?'

Albus looked seriously over the top of his spectacles, straight into the Potions master's eyes. 'Indeed, Severus. It seems Vernon Dursley slapped Harry across the face in his anger.'

Minerva snorted. 'That is a bit of an understatement, Albus,' she said, her voice deliberately low so as not to disturb Harry, but no less cutting for lack of volume. 'He struck that child hard enough to fracture his cheekbone!'

Severus's already sallow skin went pastier still, as he looked from Minerva to Albus with shock written on his face. Albus inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of the statement. Severus actually stood, striding about the room in clear agitation, his dark gaze darting back every few seconds to Harry's sleeping form. Finally, he wheeled about to face Albus.

'And what did you do to the Muggle, headmaster?' he asked, his voice dangerous. 'Or the other one, Lily's sister? What of her?'

Albus looked sideways at Minerva, but if she was surprised by Severus's knowledge about Harry's relations, she did not let on.

'Nothing.' Albus said, simply.

' _Noth_ -' Severus began, looking murderous, but Albus cut him off again.

'Both Vernon and Petunia Dursley were out when I went to check on Harry. I found him alone, locked in his bedroom. I thought it more prudent to collect Harry and bring him here for treatment than to stay and wait for the Dursleys to return. I intended for one of us to pay them a visit at a later time, once I had Harry back at Hogwarts. I assure you, Severus, I did not intend to let this go unaddressed.'

Severus shot him a dark look, but threw himself back into his seat, still looking agitated. Minerva's eyes were glinting.

'I would be happy to see to the Muggles myself, headmaster,' Minerva said, a glimmer of anticipation clear in her gaze.

'As would I,' Severus added quietly, drawing a look of surprise from Minerva.

Albus smiled grimly.

'I shall think about it, I promise you,' he said with a nod of his head. 'As for now, I think we must discuss what shall happen with Harry for the remainder of the summer. I do not wish him to leave my protection for any sustained length of time. It is still dangerous for him, which was, after all, the main reason I left him in his relatives' care, where he was protected by Lily's sacrifice. He is, of course, free to visit with friends if invited, but I think I would prefer that he live here for the duration of the summer.'

'You mean to have him sent to Gryffindor tower, where he can get up to all kinds of mischief left to his own devices, headmaster?' Severus asked, sarcastically, 'Why not just blow up the castle now and have done with it?'

Albus chuckled. 'Oh no, Severus. Although I am afraid we do not see eye to eye where Harry's penchant for troublemaking is concerned, I have no intention of sending him off to the tower on his own. In any case, the dormitories have been closed for the summer. No, I was thinking I would put Harry into one of my own guest rooms. He can stay with me for the summer. The castle has many ways for a boy his age to entertain himself and, of course, he would be free to roam the grounds and play outside, as long as someone is aware of where he is at all times. I shall take responsibility myself for his care and keeping, although I may ask for both of your help at times.'

Severus looked as though he had swallowed a lemon. 'Headmaster, I loathe the idea of taking responsibility for the Potter brat,' he complained. Albus gave him a sharp look.

'You would prefer that I send him back to his aunt and uncle, Severus?'

Severus gave him a filthy look. 'You know that is not what I meant, Albus,' he said through gritted teeth. 'I was merely pointing out that leaving Potter and myself in close proximity would be beneficial to no one.'

Albus's eyes twinkled. 'Ah, but Severus, my dear boy, I trust you completely. And I know I can count on you to be the mature adult, and never to take out your temper on an eleven-year-old child.'

Severus still looked bitter, but grudgingly nodded. Albus clapped his hands together.

'Excellent!' he said happily, 'And you, Minerva?'

Minerva gave a prim nod. 'Of course, Albus,' she agreed immediately. Albus smiled, fully aware that Minerva would sooner marry Severus than allow Harry to leave the castle after today's revelations.

The situation resolved for the moment, Albus approached Harry again, who still lay sleeping – oblivious to the scene around him. He looked back at Severus. 'That dose should keep him asleep for a few hours, correct, Severus?' he asked.

The Potions master nodded. 'Four to five hours at least, headmaster. Possibly longer – he is rather small for a child his age.'

Albus nodded, and bent over the sleeping boy. Gently, he grasped Harry beneath the arms and lifted him off the sofa, positioning him on his hip so that the child's head rested on his shoulder and his body was secure in his arms. Harry didn't stir as he was moved.

Both Minerva and Severus stepped forward at once. Minerva's face was all tenderness at the sight of the sleeping child in Albus's arms. Severus, though he looked disgusted by the thought, immediately offered, 'Shall I take him, headmaster? It is a long staircase.'

Albus chuckled a bit. 'Oh no, Severus, but thank you. I can manage. He is quite a light child, after all.' _And the child of the light_. Albus thought, sadly.

With his little burden secured against his chest, Albus made his way toward the staircase and the quarters above.


	5. Summer at Hogwarts

First of all – thank you to those who reviewed this story so far! It is most encouraging to hear from fellow writers and readers. I wanted to address the reviewers that left open questions…

 **AECM** : Thank you! There will be some exploration of that relationship, yes. I think Minerva has always felt very protective of Harry, and that relationship will grow now that he is at Hogwarts more permanently. I'm not sure just yet how close they will get, but certainly more so than in canon.

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for both your reviews! There will be some softening eventually, I believe, but I don't think you'll find it happening very quickly. That's a deep grudge to move past for Severus's character, and I want to keep him true to JK Rowling's portrayal. The relationship between Severus and Albus is one that also fascinates me, and (I think) adds another layer to the complex interplay between Severus, Harry, and the headmaster. Please stay tuned and let me know what you think as that develops further!

 **HarryxGinnyPercyxAnnabeth4ever** : Thank you for your review! I find that my chapters tend to be of different lengths, because I try to end them where the stopping point feels natural in the storyline, but I'll try and keep them long where I can. Chapter 1 was very short, but the others are about the length I expect I'll be keeping. Chapter 6 is my longest so far, I think. I'll keep your suggestion in mind though. The other professors will be making appearances, yes, but many are away for the summer and might not be seen until we get closer to start of term. Some familiar faces you'll see before then, however.

With that – on to the next instalment!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 5: Summer at Hogwarts**

Harry woke sometime in the early evening, judging by the sliver of sky he could see through the gap in the curtains on the window opposite his bed. For a moment, he thought he had awoken in Gryffindor tower. The bed he lay upon felt similarly deep and comfortable, and it was even a four-poster lined with scarlet curtains, though the curtains had been left open while he slept. He could feel the magic of Hogwarts all around him, cradling him comfortably. Harry sighed as he stretched a bit, gathering his bearings as memories of the day flooded back. He knew he _was_ at Hogwarts, although the room he was in was unfamiliar to him. He remembered that the headmaster had come for him – had taken him from his aunt and uncle's house. Harry remembered sitting in the headmaster's study, and that Dumbledore had fixed his cheek. He pressed a hand to his face to find that the swelling had completely subsided. He remembered telling the headmaster, McGonagall, and Snape about Dobby's appearance, but sometime after that he must have fallen asleep. He certainly had no recollection of being shown to the room he was in now.

A little confused, Harry pushed the covers back and slid off the bed, noticing that someone must have changed his clothes. He was wearing the scarlet and gold Gryffindor pyjamas he normally wore to bed at Hogwarts. He found his glasses propped against a candle on the bedside table. Looking around the room, he saw that his trunk rested against the foot of the bed. Someone had taken out his books and broomstick. The spellbooks, quills and parchment were stacked on a desk along one wall of the room, and his broomstick stood propped in a corner. A quick glance at the wardrobe showed him someone had also unpacked his clothing – robes and Muggle clothes alike were hung neatly from a row of hangers inside. Harry selected a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt, and pulled them quickly on. He wasn't certain, but he thought he'd probably be allowed to do away with the wearing of school robes, seeing as it was now summertime. He was just shoving his feet into trainers when a sudden _crack!_ startled him, and he whirled about.

For a moment he thought, wildly, that Dobby had just appeared in the room. It was, unmistakably, a house-elf. When the creature spoke, however, Harry thought it might be female. Her voice was even higher and squeakier than Dobby's had been.

'Master Harry Potter, sir,' the little elf said, dipping her head in a bow. Harry noticed that, unlike Dobby, she wore a much cleaner cloth over her tiny body, with the Hogwarts emblem over the right breast pocket. Harry thought it looked like a pillowcase with arm holes. 'I is Mina,' the elf continued. 'I is being Master Dumbledore's elf, sir. Master Dumbledore sends Mina to see if Master Harry Potter is awake, sir, and to show him the way to the stairs.'

'Just Harry is fine, Mina, thank you,' Harry said hurriedly. 'Er, where am I, exactly?'

'Master Harry is in his room, sir,' said the elf, looking confused and a little concerned. 'His room in Master Dumbledore's quarters, Master Harry.'

'Oh, er… right.' Said Harry, thoroughly bewildered. 'And, er, Mina – where is the headmaster?'

'Master Dumbledore is downstairs, in his study,' the elf said, brightly. 'He is with Mistress McGonagall, young master. They is waiting for you.' Harry nodded, and straightened from his crouch, trainers intact. The elf bobbed ahead, opening the door. 'The stairs is just down the corridor, Master Harry, on the right. Does Master Harry need Mina to show him?'

'No, thank you, Mina, I'll be fine,' said Harry, giving the elf a smile. He made his way from the bedroom in the direction the elf had indicated, and found himself at the top of the staircase he assumed he'd seen from the study earlier in the day. He followed it down quickly, catching sight of the headmaster and Professor McGonagall as he reached the bottom. They broke off their conversation and looked up at him, both smiling.

'Ah, Harry!' Dumbledore said, opening his arms in greeting as he stood from the sofa. 'You are looking more refreshed from your lie-down. I trust you're feeling well?'

'Very well, thank you, professor,' Harry answered politely, taking a seat on the sofa at Dumbledore's indication. 'Sorry for falling asleep on you earlier, sir. I guess I didn't realise how tired I was.'

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. 'It is no matter, Harry. You needed a bit of rest, I dare say. Did you find the room acceptable?'

Harry felt a little embarrassed, and squirmed on the chair. 'It was great, professor. Thank you for letting me use it.'

'Good,' the headmaster said, nodding. 'It will be yours for the remainder of the summer, my boy. Professor McGonagall and I have had a chat, and we have decided it would be best for you to stay here for the time being. You'll have full access to the castle and grounds, of course, and are free to entertain yourself however you'd like. You may play in the grounds, or write your friends, or – I dare say – complete your summer assignments,' he added, eyes twinkling. 'I ask only that you always inform myself or another professor of your whereabouts, just so we can keep an eye on you. And, of course, the rules of the school year will be enforced in terms of curfew and forbidden wanderings into the forest,' he added.

Harry was dumbstruck for a moment – stay _here_ , at _Hogwarts_ , all summer? The idea was more than he could have hoped for, but he couldn't help but feel that the headmaster and the other professors were going to an awful lot of trouble, just for him.

'Professor Dumbledore, you don't have to do all this,' he said hurriedly, 'I don't think my uncle would… would do that kind of thing again. I'm sure I'd be alright back at the Dursleys. I don't want to ruin the summer for you or the other professors.'

He shot McGonagall an apologetic look as well. It was she who replied.

'Harry,' she said, surprising him again with the continued use of his first name, 'We are more than happy to have you here. What your uncle did – whether he'd ever done it before or would ever do it again – was completely intolerable. We won't be sending you back there this summer, no matter what. You aren't a burden to any of us, Harry.'

'Professor McGonagall is quite right,' the headmaster added, firmly. 'You will stay here at Hogwarts, and we shall be perfectly happy to have you with us.' He clapped his hands together and stood. 'Well, now we've settled that matter, what say we head down to the Great Hall? I'm sure we could all use some dinner, after such an exciting day. Harry, Minerva?' They both nodded immediately, and Harry took to his feet again. He followed the professors out of the study, and back down the winding stairwell into the corridor.

As they walked, Dumbledore and McGonagall talked with Harry. They told him that, apart from themselves, only Hagrid, Filch, Snape and a teacher he'd never met – a Professor Trelawney – were in residence for the summer. Most of Harry's other professors had gone home or to visit relatives for the holidays, though some would be in and out before the start of term. He learned that both Dumbledore and McGonagall would be gone from the castle next week for a few days – Professor McGonagall to visit her nieces on the Scottish coast, and Professor Dumbledore to the International Confederation of Wizards' annual conference. Both promised they would only be gone a short while, and Professor McGonagall offered to take Harry with her, but Harry quickly declined – he didn't want to impose further on the professor, when she had already scheduled a holiday to see her family and he was clearly an unexpected arrival. He could see she wanted to push the point, so he changed the subject.

'What does Professor Trelawney teach, ma'am?' he asked Professor McGonagall. 'I don't think I've met her before.'

Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared slightly in disapproval. 'Divination,' she answered, shortly. 'It is a study of fortune-telling, concerned with attempting to foretell the future.' She sniffed in clear dismissal. 'It is available as an elective beginning in third year, although I personally believe –'

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, and McGonagall broke off. Harry looked curiously from McGonagall to Dumbledore. The headmaster smiled at him, his eyes twinkling again.

'Professor McGonagall believes the subject of Divination to be a very imprecise branch of magic, which of course it is, by nature. However, I discourage the dismissal of subjects out of hand, as a general rule. You should consider all your potential electives before deciding which courses might suit your interest. I personally did not choose to study Divination, but there are many who follow Professor Trelawney's lessons religiously. She is an interesting professor, and has much to offer in the field.'

Harry could tell from the expression on McGonagall's face that she wholeheartedly disagreed with Dumbledore's opinion on the matter, but she didn't comment further. Harry was intrigued by the obvious tension on the subject. He wondered whether he might meet this Professor Trelawney during his summer stay at the castle.

They reached the Great Hall shortly afterward, and Harry saw that the usual set-up had altered greatly for the summer. The house tables stood against the walls, bare and empty for the moment. The head table, which was usually situated at the front of the room, had been moved to occupy the centre and was laid for only a few diners. Snape was already seated. He hardly looked up from his goblet of wine when the trio made their entrance. Harry didn't see Filch or the unknown Professor Trelawney, but seated to Snape's left was –

'Hagrid!' Harry shouted in delight, rushing toward the table. Hagrid stood upon catching sight of Harry, and caught him up immediately in an embrace so tight it nearly cracked his ribs.

''Lo there, Harry,' the gamekeeper said happily, thumping him on the back hard enough to save Harry from choking as he set him down again. 'Mighty glad ter see yeh, I am. How come yeh've not been answerin' me letters, then?'

Harry smiled up at him – a long way up, as Hagrid towered a good six feet or so higher than he stood. 'Long story, Hagrid,' he said. 'But I'll have loads of time now – looks like I'm staying here for the rest of the summer.' He grinned.

Hagrid looked from him to Professor Dumbledore. 'Yeh never are!' he said, looking thrilled. 'Great news, Harry, great news! Yeh ought to come by tomorrow – I'll show yeh the new baby unicorns – we got four of 'em what were born this past week. Real beauties, they are.'

Harry looked keenly from Hagrid to Dumbledore, who nodded his approval. 'That would be fine, Harry. But you are not to go into the forest without Hagrid, alright?'

Harry nodded eagerly. From behind them, Snape cleared his throat pointedly. 'If you've all finished greeting one another,' he said with a slight sneer, 'I'm sure the elves are anxious to serve dinner.'

Everyone hurried into their seats. Harry looked up at Dumbledore, who clapped his hands twice over the table. Immediately, the oak surface was laden with the sort of dinner spread Harry had come to expect from the fantastic Hogwarts kitchens. But he didn't see an elf in sight.

'What did Professor Snape mean, Professor Dumbledore?' Harry asked the headmaster, who was seated across from him. 'I don't see any house-elves.'

'They work in the kitchens, Potter,' said Snape, cutting across Dumbledore before he could answer. 'Surely you did not think the food magically popped into existence whenever you fancied yourself hungry.'

Harry didn't say anything. In fact, that _was_ what he thought generally happened at mealtimes. Well, perhaps not precisely that – but he certainly thought the headmaster or one of the teachers popped it into existence. Snape seemed to guess his thoughts from his expression. His sneer grew more pronounced.

'Hogwarts is home to the largest population of domestic house-elves in Britain, Potter,' he said, in lecture mode. 'They prepare each meal in the kitchens, and send the dishes up when the headmaster signals.'

'I've never seen an elf – until today,' said Harry in explanation, feeling stupid.

Professor McGonagall smiled kindly over at him from her place next to Dumbledore. 'Of course you haven't, Harry. They generally stay within the kitchens, except when they come out to do the cleaning, which is generally either very late in the night or else during the day, while lessons are in session and the tower is empty. It's not uncommon to never see a house-elf in the entirety of your time at Hogwarts. Most students who don't come from old magic families that own their own house-elves never even know to look for them.'

Snape rolled his eyes, but dug into his roast without further comment. Harry, finding he was suddenly starving, turned to his own meal with gusto. He carried on polite conversation with Hagrid, Dumbledore, and McGonagall between bites, carefully avoiding Snape.

When the dinner had finished, he expected the party to dismiss promptly, the way the school so often did at the end of evening meals during term. However, he found the general atmosphere was far more relaxed during the summer hols. Dumbledore conjured a bottle of some sort of mead and poured glasses for the adults. Everyone took it eagerly, even Snape, and sipped casually at the drink while enjoying the banter. Professors Snape and McGonagall entered into a heated back and forth about the results of Wednesday's quidditch match between the English and Scottish national squads, and Hagrid had engaged Dumbledore in a pleasant conversation about the likelihood of hand raising a manticore (Harry could tell the headmaster was humouring Hagrid, but could happily deduce that Dumbledore would never allow the gamekeeper to embark on such an endeavour at the castle). Harry was not allowed the mead, but Dumbledore passed him a thick mug of hot chocolate, with extra whipped cream and a wink. He attempted to slide along a dish of what looked like candied almonds as well, but McGonagall pulled them firmly away again ('Honestly! He's already had tart, Albus – do you really want him on a sugar high at this hour?!').

Harry sipped the chocolate contentedly, growing drowsy with the sated feeling of a full belly and unburdened mind. He was nearly asleep in his drink when Dumbledore stood up at last and suggested they all call it an evening. He followed the headmaster and McGonagall back up to the tower again, his feet beginning to drag. Dumbledore showed him right up to the little bedroom that was now his, and ushered him in to change.

'There is a wash room through here,' Dumbledore said, indicating a door in the bedroom that Harry hadn't yet explored. 'I set out some towels, and the house-elves will see to changing them for you.' He waited while Harry took care of necessities in the bathroom, and turned down the bed for him. 'Is there anything else you need for the night?' he asked as he finished.

Harry shook his head. 'No, thank you, Professor. I should be fine.'

Dumbledore nodded. 'Then I will say good evening. If you need me at all in the night, my bedchamber is the last room – straight down the corridor through the final door. You may fetch me at any time, and for any reason.'

He turned to go, but paused on the threshold, returning to Harry again. 'I nearly forgot,' he said, putting a hand in a pocket of his robes. 'You may be wanting this.' He drew his hand out again, and Harry exclaimed in excitement.

'My wand!' he cried, reaching out for the familiar stick of wood. Dumbledore handed it over with a smile, his eyes twinkling as Harry's reunion with his wand brought forth a shower of red and gold sparks from the wand's tip. He chuckled a bit.

'I find I have a similar reaction if I am parted from my wand for a length of time. It is a mark of your strength as a wizard. Your magic needs an outlet, Harry,' he said, somewhat enigmatically. 'You may use your wand at Hogwarts – the Ministry charms to detect underage magic are ineffective here, while you are within the castle or grounds. But I must ask you to heed the Ministry rules anytime you are outside of the Hogwarts grounds this summer, and not to abuse the privilege whilst you are here. Any rule-breaking, and I will restrict your use of magic until the start of term. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded eagerly, hardly daring to believe his luck. 'Of course, sir. I'll be careful and I'll behave.'

Dumbledore smiled again. 'Good.' He headed for the door again, turning to shut it behind him. 'Good night, Harry,' he said in farewell, watching as Harry climbed between the sheets.

'Good night, sir,' Harry said, already feeling his eyes begin to shut.

He was asleep before Dumbledore's footsteps had faded down the stairs.

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Nearly three hours later, Albus was engrossed in a vicious chess game with Minerva – a ritual the pair indulged in a few nights a week. Both held glasses of single malt scotch as they studied the board, determined to best the other. Albus liked to say that they traded victories every other game or so. Minerva insisted that the count weighed slightly in her favour, and that the losses were exceedingly good for the headmaster's humility. Tonight, he feared, was shaping up to be another feather in her cap.

As Albus contemplated how to avoid the loss of his bishop, a terrified scream rent the air. Minerva dropped her tumbler in shock, and Albus nearly lost his own. Fawkes, who had returned from several days' absence that evening, gave a startled squawk from his perch in the corner. Albus set his glass onto the side table, quickly vanishing the spilled whisky from Minerva's out of his Axminster and sending the empty tumbler flying back onto the table, while Minerva dried the hem of her dressing gown.

'Harry,' she breathed, looking at Albus in fright.

He was already headed toward the staircase, Minerva on his heels. The pair raced up the steps two at a time, and hurried for the child's bedroom. Albus pushed open the door without knocking, Minerva tumbling in after him.

At first glance, Albus was puzzled. There was nothing out of place in the bedroom; no obvious sign of danger. But then he noticed Harry was tossing fretfully on the bed, moaning and mumbling incoherently. He gave another strangled cry, and Albus and Minerva rushed forward.

Albus grasped the child's shoulders firmly, and shook him sharply. 'Harry!' he called, trying to wake the boy. 'Harry, child, wake up!'

He shook the boy's shoulders again, and Harry came suddenly awake with a gasp, staring wildly around, his hands coming up to clutch instinctively at Albus's dressing gown. Albus could feel his pulse pounding as he struggled to regain his grasp on reality. As his gaze became more focused, Harry's face reddened, and he dropped his hold on the front of Albus's dressing gown immediately.

'Professor!' he said in horror, realising who was before him. 'I'm so sorry.'

Albus shook his head, keeping his hold on Harry's shoulders as he eased the boy back against the pillows, seating himself on the edge of the bed. 'Don't be silly, child. I am not angry with you,' he assured him. Minerva approached the bed at that moment, offering Harry a glass of water. He took it gratefully, with a small smile of thanks, and drained half of the drink very quickly. Albus took the glass when Harry had finished, setting it on the night table.

'Are you alright?' he asked, searching Harry's face in concern.

'Yes, sir,' Harry said quickly. He looked down at his hands. 'I'm sorry. I should have warned you before. I didn't think… I thought maybe it'd be different here.'

'What would be different, Harry?' Albus asked, his brow furrowed.

'I've been having nightmares,' Harry said, his voice so soft Albus had to strain to hear it. 'Ever since the end of term. I don't mean to be so loud, sir, but I can't make them stop. I woke up my relatives nearly every night with the screaming. They were so angry…'

Harry trailed off again, looking close to tears. From the corner of his eye, Albus could see that Minerva too looked like she may cry. Her hand was at her mouth – her eyes fixed on the child.

'What do you see in the dreams, Harry?' Albus asked quietly. 'What is it that has you so frightened?'

Harry spoke to the hands in his lap again, not meeting Albus's eyes. 'It's Voldemort, sir. It's always him, in the end. His face – in the back of Quirrell's head. His red eyes. The things he said to me about my parents…' Harry took a deep breath. 'Sometimes I dream of that night too. The first night. I can't remember much, and I can't remember my parents at all. But I remember a lot of bright green light. And someone laughing…'

He took in another breath, and this one hitched.

Before he could consciously debate doing it, Albus found he was pulling the child against him, wrapping his arms around the boy. Harry seemed to stiffen for a moment, and then he was hugging him back fiercely, his hands fisted in the back of Albus's dressing gown, tears falling freely from his eyes as he pressed his face into the professor's chest. And Albus knew, without needing to be told, that Harry had never received this kind of comfort after waking from one of these night terrors before.

He rubbed soothing circles on the child's back, whispering words of nonsense and comfort in his ear as he tried to calmed his fears. He felt Minerva's presence as she moved closer as well, sidling onto the bed in turn and running her fingers through Harry's hair and across his forehead, offering what she could to the distraught boy. After a few minutes, Harry's breathing began to even out, and the tears abated. Harry pushed back from the embrace, his face red both with tears and embarrassment, wiping away the remnants from his cheeks.

'I'm sorry,' he said thickly. 'I'm acting like a toddler.'

Albus smiled at him, shaking his head, while Minerva bustled into the bathroom. She returned a moment later with a cool flannel for Harry to wipe his face.

'You have nothing to apologise for, Harry,' Albus assured him. 'You are not the first to suffer from such nightmares – nor are you the oldest to let such emotion take hold of you. There is nothing shameful in fear, or grief, or sadness. These are the emotions that allow us to feel peace, and love, and happiness. They remind us that while we may lose, there are things and people worth living for: that to _love_ is to _live_. You should never apologise for love, Harry. It is your greatest strength.'

Albus could tell that Harry didn't quite understand. Perhaps he was still too young. But the boy looked pacified all the same, and quite tired out from the unexpected cry. Minerva bent over to whisper a query in his ear, and Albus nodded in reply, sending her dashing from the room again. He rose from the bed and helped Harry lie down once more, smoothing the covers over him. Minerva returned with a small phial of potion, a spoonful of which she measured out for Harry.

'Take this Harry,' she said, bending over him with the spoon of bright pink potion. 'It's just a mild calming draught – it will help you fall into a more restful sleep for the remainder of the night.' Seeing Harry's wary glance at the potion, Minerva smiled. 'Don't worry – it tastes like spearmint,' she assured him, correctly guessing Harry's source of hesitation. He leaned forward slightly, and allowed Minerva to tip the measure of potion into his mouth. Albus could see his eyes were beginning to droop again.

'We shall stay with you until you are asleep again, Harry,' Albus reassured him, while Minerva carded his hair. And remain they did for the next ten minutes, until both were satisfied that Harry had fallen into a deep sleep once more.

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'I had forgotten how much goes into playing parent to a child around the clock,' Albus remarked half an hour later, when he and Minerva had returned to the study to finish their interrupted nightcap. 'Having never had children of my own.'

Minerva scoffed. 'It has been too long since you filled in for a Head of House, Albus,' she reproached him. 'It's always hardest when they're small. Harry is not yet twelve, and comes with more troubled a past than nearly any student I've ever met.'

Albus inclined his head in agreement, sipping at his salvaged scotch. 'Perhaps you are right. I ought to volunteer to fill the post for Filius more often, when he takes a week-end at home. But I do hope these nightmares will subside, for Harry's sake. I had not realised the events of June were still affecting the child this badly.'

Minerva looked troubled. 'Indeed,' she concurred, nursing her own replenished drink. 'I suppose it is to be expected. Hopefully after a few nights of stability here, he'll begin to recover somewhat.'

'I'm sure he will,' said Albus bracingly, though he wasn't certain in the slightest. 'In any event, at least I'm forewarned for future.' He drained the last of his drink, and set the empty glass aside. 'Well, I suppose we should turn in as well, my dear. Are you staying tonight?'

Minerva set her own empty glass aside and rose to her feet. 'I think not tonight, Albus. I'm not sure Harry is ready for any more surprises this night.' She bent to kiss him lightly, her fingertips brushing his chest. 'I shall meet you both in the Great Hall for breakfast tomorrow,' she said, taking her leave. Albus bid her goodnight, and waved a hand to dim the candles in the study. He banished the empty drink glasses to the kitchen, then headed up to his own bed, exhausted from the day.

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The next few days saw Harry settle into something of a routine at Hogwarts. He woke each morning in the little bedroom that was now his, and usually found Dumbledore awake already and waiting for him in the study. The headmaster would walk down to breakfast with him, sometimes accompanied by Professor McGonagall, who Harry thought must also be an early riser, as she was often in the study with Dumbledore by the time Harry rose for the day. They were usually on their own for breakfast – as Hagrid tended to eat in his hut in the mornings, and Filch always ate much earlier than the rest of the staff (to Harry's great relief). Snape made an appearance at breakfast about half the time – the other mornings he seemed to take breakfast in his laboratory. Harry was usually left to his own devices for lunch, as the staff tended to eat in their own studies at midday. Dumbledore showed Harry how to call for a house-elf on his second morning in the castle, and told him he could do so if he was out in the grounds or somewhere else in the castle at lunch hour. If he was in Dumbledore's quarters, they would eat together. Harry usually tried to make a point of getting back to the study for tea, even if he missed the midday meal.

Supper remained a group affair and always included Snape, to Harry's displeasure. During the day, the Potions master usually made a concerted effort to avoid contact with Harry, which suited him just fine. The one time Harry had passed him in the corridor – on his third afternoon in the castle – Snape had barked at him to slow down (though he hadn't been running), and then stopped Harry entirely to interrogate him about his activities that day. Harry could see in Snape's eyes that he'd longed to give him detention but, seeing as school was not in session, he was out of luck. Instead, Snape had looked thoroughly suspicious at Harry's lack of planned productive activity, sneered at the broomstick he held clutched in his hand, and barked a reminder that he was not to fly unsupervised before stalking away for his dungeons, robes billowing behind him. Harry had hurried away without retort – summer holidays or not, Harry wouldn't put it past Snape to commandeer a beautiful afternoon to keep Harry in the dungeons pickling frog brains, or something equally foul.

At dinner, there was no avoiding Snape, though the two barely exchanged words unless forced into conversation by the headmaster. Harry usually seated himself next to Dumbledore or Professor McGonagall, who were each more than happy to engage him in the discussion. The evening meals continued to linger longer than they might have done during the school term, and Harry always found himself nearly asleep as the table finally dispersed. If the evening had not gone overly late, Professor Dumbledore might offer him a game of chess or gobstones when they returned to their quarters. Harry preferred the gobstones, where he actually stood a chance of besting the headmaster, though Professor McGonagall thoroughly disapproved of the game when she found them at it the second night, Dumbledore's beard already covered in the smelly substance the stones spat at the loser.

During the long days, Harry amused himself both in the grounds and in the castle. Having completed his Charms homework at the Dursleys' before his books were confiscated, he started in on some of his other homework, making great inroads with Transfigurations – especially after Professor McGonagall condescended to read through the first draft of his essay and offer a few helpful 'suggestions' for its improvement.

He visited Hagrid most mornings after breakfast. The gamekeeper had taken him to see the baby unicorns on his second day at the castle, and Harry marvelled over the beautiful little golden creatures, which Hagrid told him were much more trusting than their adult counterparts. Harry's only memory of unicorns before now was of the solitary dead creature he'd stumbled across in the forest clearing the year before… and he found he definitely preferred the living beasts. Some days he stayed with Hagrid until lunch, although he always found an excuse to head off before actually eating his midday meal, as he had never been a particular fan of Hagrid's cooking. They took walks to the lake or through the closer edges of the forest, talking of the coming term and the creatures in the grounds.

Harry had written to Ron and Hermione, finally, although he hadn't told them where he was staying at Dumbledore's request. Dumbledore had not forbidden Harry from ever informing his friends of his whereabouts, but he had asked that Harry not put the information in a letter. Harry wasn't exactly sure why Dumbledore insisted on such secrecy, but he didn't question the headmaster. He had promised to arrange a visit for the trio when he returned from the Confederation conference the following week. So, for now, Harry had told both Ron and Hermione that he was having a great summer and that he was happy, and left it at that. He had asked after their families, and excitedly told them that he wanted to plan a date for them all to get together around his birthday at the end of the month.

Professor Dumbledore had given him permission to fly on his Nimbus 2000 out on the quidditch pitch, as long as he was watched by an adult. Dumbledore himself came out with him the first time, on his second afternoon at the castle. Professor McGonagall, however, was by far his favourite person to take flying. Professor Dumbledore was great company in general, but McGonagall just _got_ quidditch. She talked as excitedly as Oliver Wood – the Gryffindor quidditch captain – about the prospects for the Gryffindor team's success this season, and was eager to watch Harry train. Unlike Dumbledore, who grew nervous if Harry attempted anything too dangerous in the air, McGonagall's overprotectiveness did not stretch to the quidditch pitch. Harry found her to be both an avid fan of the game and an extremely knowledgeable trainer, and she even surprised him on their third trip to the pitch by mounting her own broom and demonstrating a bludger-avoidance manoeuvre she called a 'Maloney-Bates pivot.'

Harry had been stunned, until McGonagall laughed playfully and said, 'Oh don't look so shocked, Harry. I was a legendary chaser _and_ captain in my day!'

Harry had shaken his head – _he should have known!_ – and mounted his own broomstick to try out the move for himself.

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All in all, Harry's first full week of summer at Hogwarts had gone exceedingly well, and he was beginning to feel relaxed and comfortable under his professors' guardianship. But as the morning of his eighth day dawned, Harry could tell things were about to take a turn for the unpleasant.

He woke up feeling ornery and irritable, and decidedly unrested. His throat was a bit scratchy – probably due to the nightmare that had him screaming himself awake again in the middle of the night. Despite being back at Hogwarts and away from the Dursleys, Harry's nightmares had continued unabated. It was the one dark spot in an otherwise perfect week.

Most nights, Professor Dumbledore or McGonagall would rouse him from his dreams, if he hadn't awoken on his own. They always stayed with him until he calmed down and helped him back to sleep. Harry was grateful for their presence, but he couldn't help feeling guilty for disturbing their rest as well, even though the professors always insisted he wasn't a bother to them.

But last night, they hadn't come. Harry had been on his own.

Yesterday morning had commenced Professor Dumbledore's five-day absence from the castle. He had to be in France for the International Confederation of Wizards' annual conference, which he had warned Harry about when they first agreed he would stay at the school for the summer. Dumbledore held the top seat on the Confederation council, and his presence was required at the conference. Harry could tell the event was important to the headmaster as well – he had seen him working on papers and proposals in his study, late into the night. Multiple times, in the days leading up to the conference, Professor Dumbledore had had to leave the castle for hours at a clip, meeting with important wizards at the Ministry to discuss the British agenda. He never had the wizards to Hogwarts to discuss their business – and, though Dumbledore never said, Harry had the distinct impression that the headmaster avoided bringing outside wizards to the castle because of him. Harry hadn't wanted to ask Dumbledore to stay, but he knew he was going to miss the headmaster while he was abroad, especially during those terrifying hours of the night.

Professor McGonagall had had to leave too. She was going to a town on the other side of the country – a place called Portree on the Isle of Skye – to visit with her brothers' daughters, who ran an inn there. She had renewed her offer to take Harry with her, but Harry didn't want to impose on the family. He had begged off the minibreak, and wished McGonagall a good time. She left reluctantly, and implored Harry to floo-call for her if he needed anything at all or if he changed his mind. She'd even given him a fierce hug before departing, looking like she was leaving against her better judgment.

While Dumbledore and McGonagall were away, Harry's care was entrusted to Professor Snape. Neither wizard was particularly happy with the situation. That first day, Snape had sat Harry down in the headmaster's study the moment McGonagall had departed, and lectured him for a solid fifteen minutes on the rules of the castle while he was in command. Harry had listened in silence, hoping not to rile the man's volatile temper.

'There will be no flouting of my rules over the next five days, Potter,' the Potions master had said, looking at Harry as though he'd already suggested they run naked through the forest under the moonlight. 'You'll keep to a curfew of 9:00 pm every evening, returning here straight after dinner. I shall see to it that you are in bed by 9:30 every night. You are not to go into the forest, even with Hagrid, while Professor Dumbledore is away from the castle. You are not to fly your broom alone in the grounds, as there is no certified professor to keep watch on you and I shall be too busy to do so myself. You are to spend this week dedicating some time to your assignments. I will be checking that you have completed the summer work before Dumbledore returns. You are not to cause unnecessary trouble, you are not to disappear into the grounds without checking in with me first, and you are not to disturb me while I am working in my lab. I shall be staying in a guest room for this week, down the corridor from your bedroom in the headmaster's quarters, but in the evenings I will be either here in the study or else in my lab. _Do not_ enter my bedchamber in the night unless it is an emergency, and even then you will _knock_ first, unless you wish to die a very painful and drawn-out death.'

Harry had given his 'Yes, sir,' immediately, and Snape had dismissed him. They saw very little of each other that first day, except when Snape came to check that he was, in fact, in bed at 9:30 pm that evening. When Harry had awoken from another nightmare several hours later, Snape had been nowhere in sight, and Harry had not gone to look for him. He assumed that Snape was working in his laboratory. For one fleeting moment, Harry felt a bit sad that nobody had been there to wake him, but the thought of what Snape might have said if he'd found Harry screaming his head off in his sleep sobered him quickly from that line of thought. He was, he decided, exceedingly grateful that Snape seemed not to have heard, even if it did take him much longer to fall back asleep on his own.

This morning, Harry was awakened in his terrible mood by one of the house-elves, Tilly, and told he was already running late for breakfast. Not particularly hungry, but knowing Snape was bound to go ballistic if Harry failed to make an appearance, he bounded out of bed and into the shower, trying to wake himself up a bit. When he reached the study half an hour later, he saw that Snape seemed to have gone down to eat without bothering to wait for him. He hurried to the hall to force down some oatmeal.

Snape greeted him with a curt 'You are up late this morning, Potter.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' he said quickly, grabbing for the oatmeal.

He ate in silence, while Snape sipped at a morning cup of coffee. He heard a rumble from overhead, and looked up to see the Great Hall's ceiling was a mass of thunderous grey clouds. Just perfect.

'As the weather today will clearly negate any outdoor schemes,' Snape began, seeming to read Harry's thoughts, 'I think today would be a perfect day to begin your Potions assignment. You may work in the library for the morning, and if you are able to show a modicum of sense in your first attempt, I shall _lend you_ the second year text to improve the assignment in your second draft. I will review your work at midday. Bring it down to my office.'

Harry felt like arguing the point on multiple fronts – who was Snape to tell him what to do for the day? And why must he work in the library, when Dumbledore had given him leave to be anywhere (within bounds) inside the castle? – but he didn't push the Potions master. He knew it would be a losing battle anyway.

'Yes, sir,' he replied in defeat instead, picking moodily at his breakfast. He knew the assignment would probably take all morning, and he rather doubted Snape would exclaim over his first attempt. More likely, he'd be sent off to complete a better first draft before Snape deemed his work acceptable enough to lend him the second year book.

Snape left the hall shortly after, and Harry soon gave up on trying to stomach more breakfast. Bracing himself for a dismal morning, he returned to the headmaster's quarters to retrieve his materials and headed for the library.

Four hours later, he trudged down to the dungeons with his completed essay. He knew it wouldn't be up to scratch, but he just couldn't look at it anymore. Between the rain now beating hard against the castle windows and the hours of Potions reading, Harry already had a pounding headache. He was sure Snape's commentary would not aide him in overcoming it. Wearily, he knocked at Snape's office door. He heard the silky voice call ' _Enter_!' from the chamber within, and pulled the handle to open it.

Snape was standing at his desk in the corner, perusing a long sheaf of notes. He barely looked up as Harry walked into the room, but held out his hand in silence for the essay. Harry passed it to him.

'You may go and have lunch while I read it over, Potter.' Snape said in dismissal. 'I will come for you in the headmaster's study after I have had the chance to add my notes.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry agreed quickly, and he sprinted from the room before Snape could change his mind and assign him some menial task while he marked the draft.

Harry ordered some soup from Mina the elf back in the headmaster's study, and stroked Fawkes' head while he waited for the bowl to cool. He loved the phoenix, who he'd met on his second day back at the castle. Dumbledore had explained that, though Fawkes was his familiar, phoenixes were much more their own masters than other pets, like owls or cats.

'Phoenixes are like wands, Harry,' Dumbledore had explained at their introduction. 'They choose their own wizards. Phoenixes will stay with their chosen companion for the whole of that wizard's life, and they make highly faithful and loyal pets. But they have their own minds, and their magic is much older and more complex than our own. I can make a request of Fawkes, and he may grant it, because he has bound himself to me. But his magic must be freely given. I could no more force him to do my bidding than I could control the path of the earth around the sun.'

The phoenix now sat dozing on his perch, seeming content under Harry's ministrations. He didn't know exactly why, but somehow Harry felt a pull toward the phoenix. His presence in the study seemed to calm Harry, and he felt connected to Dumbledore through Fawkes, even though the headmaster was away from the school.

Harry checked on the state of his soup again, and managed about half before he felt full. He set the bowl aside and glanced at the clock. It had been an hour, but Snape still had not made his appearance. Harry was bored. He didn't dare leave the study until Snape showed up – or he'd be in for a highly unpleasant afternoon. Sighing, he flung himself onto the sofa to wait.

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Some time later, Harry was startled awake from his position on the sofa by the slamming of a heavy book on the table. He jerked upright to see Snape's irate expression, his coal-black eyes boring into Harry's and an unpleasantly familiar sneer on his face.

'Napping, Potter?' he spat viciously. 'I am surprised. I would have thought the sleep you obviously got this morning when you were supposedly composing this travesty of an essay would have sufficed.'

Harry wiped the sleep remnants out of his eyes and sat up a little straighter, his groggy mind still piecing together Snape's insult. 'Sorry, sir,' he muttered, taking the heavily-marked essay from Snape's outstretched hand.

Snape seemed suspicious of Harry's lack of fight. 'I have given significant correction on this pathetic attempt, Potter,' he pressed on. 'And you will find the second year text on the table. I _should_ make you retry the exercise first before allowing you to use the next book. However, in the interest of not wasting more of my own valuable time, I shall overlook it this once.'

He straightened the turn-ups of his robes, seemingly finished with his rant on Harry's performance.

'You have the afternoon to rewrite the essay. Leave it on the headmaster's desk when you go down to dinner. If – as I do not doubt – it falls short of my standards again, you can make a fresh attempt tomorrow. I think I shall restrict you from leaving the castle until you have shown yourself capable.'

Harry bristled at once. 'But that's not fair, sir!' he said immediately, firing up. 'The others have until the end of the summer – and it's only July! You can't keep me locked in the castle! Dumbledore would –'

' _Professor_ Dumbledore,' Snape cut across him in a dangerous voice, leaning over Harry again, 'has left _me_ in charge of your care while he is away. And that means, Potter, that I can do whatever I feel is necessary to ensure you are not lazing away the summer! You are being given the privilege of staying at Hogwarts until the start of term, and you would do well to remember that this is a _school_ , not your personal playground. You _will_ learn _something_ whilst you are here, and you will respect ME and MY instruction while I am in charge!' He bellowed the last before straightening again, and heading for the door. 'You will leave the essay on the desk before dinner. And Potter – I shall _know_ whether you've put in a good faith effort!' With that, Snape swept from the room, shutting the door with a bang.

Harry groaned and flopped back against the sofa cushions, lifting the essay up to read Snape's comments. There seemed to be more scarlet ink than the black of his own quill. He'd be lucky to complete a new draft by dinner, judging by the looks of it. With a sigh, he dragged the text Snape had left toward him, settling in for the task.

By dinner, Harry was exhausted. He did feel that he'd made a good go of the essay, however. He'd managed to decode and address all of Snape's snarky comments on his first attempt, and add a good portion of the new material. He rose from the sofa, stretching his stiffened shoulders, and strode to the headmaster's desk to leave the newly-inked parchment for Snape to find. He was so tired, he felt he'd rather go up to bed than into the Great Hall for dinner, but he didn't want to give Snape the satisfaction of working him into the ground. Instead, he sighed wearily and headed down to eat.

Hagrid sat with him at dinner, and Harry did his best to seem cheery and at ease as he ate what he could of his chicken. He didn't think Hagrid was fooled, but at least Snape left him well enough alone for the meal. Snape and Hagrid didn't dawdle at the end of dinner the way the headmaster had done for the past week or so. Instead, the dinner finished promptly at eight, and Harry darted from the table as quickly as he could. He made his way back up to his room, feeling absolutely done in. He didn't bother to wait for Snape's return but instead changed into his pyjamas, brushed his teeth, and decided on an early night. Snape could berate him for his poor essay skills again in the morning.

Harry's last thought, before he fell into a weary sleep, was that Dumbledore and McGonagall couldn't return soon enough.


	6. An Unexpected Complication

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 6: An Unexpected Complication**

Many hours later, Severus Snape was sitting in the headmaster's study, perusing a pile of notes he'd made over the past week on his Wolfsbane project. He was trying to create a variant of the potion which would improve on the original formulation. So far he hadn't managed to find a way to combat the side effects of the brew, but he did think he may have discovered a method of preparation for the armadillo bile which would mean the user need only drink the potion in the week preceding the full moon, rather than every day. He knew he ought to turn in as the clock crept well past midnight, but Severus wanted to record his thoughts before the theory escaped him. Bending over the stack of parchment, be began to cross out a few lines and make revision. In the middle of his work, a piercing scream made him jump, accidentally puncturing the parchment with the point of his quill as he started.

 _What on earth?_ he thought to himself, staring toward the winding staircase that led to the headmaster's chambers. Another strangled scream rent the night, and Severus leapt to his feet, wand out and parchment set aside. _Potter_.

Severus had not seen the boy since supper. He'd already gone up to bed by the time Severus had returned to the headmaster's study. He hadn't even perused the boy's latest attempt at his Potions essay, finding the task much less enjoyable when Potter wasn't awake to antagonise.

Severus made quickly for the staircase and strode down the little corridor to the boy's room. The screaming had stopped, but he could hear ragged breathing beyond the door. He pushed it open. Potter was sitting up in bed, wiping at his face and sniffling a bit. Severus looked around the room, but saw nothing that might have caused such a reaction in the child.

'What on earth are you doing up here, Potter?' he asked in anger, crossing his arms and pocketing the wand. The child turned a bit to look up at him, then immediately directed his gaze to his bedspread.

'Sorry, professor,' he mumbled thickly. 'Nightmare.'

Severus raised an incredulous eyebrow. _Night Terror, is more like_ , he thought. He was not entirely unsympathetic. After all, the things he'd seen and done in the past 15 years were enough to wrench him screaming from sleep at times as well… but he was 20 years Potter's senior, and had lived through a war. No eleven-year-old should have such horrors in their memory.

 _But then_ , he thought, wryly, _Potter is not a normal eleven-year-old_.

He considered the boy in silence while collecting his thoughts, then nodded brusquely. 'Do you require a potion to get back to sleep?' he asked, surprising himself with his own solicitousness. Potter glanced up, looking a little shocked himself, but shook his head quickly, still clearing the evidence of tear tracks from his cheeks.

When he looked closer at the boy now, however, Severus noticed that he wasn't only crying, but shivering slightly. Unnerved, Severus brightened the candle on the night table with a flick of his hand and approached cautiously, his eyes narrowed. There were beads of sweat on Potter's face, and he squinted and cowered slightly in the suddenly bright candlelight. He looked unmistakably fevered.

 _Oh… just perfect_ , Snape thought to himself in exasperation. Reluctantly, he reached out a hand and rested his palm on the boy's clammy forehead. Potter flinched back immediately at the touch.

'Keep still, Potter,' Severus growled, attempting to feel his forehead again.

The boy swallowed nervously, but did not move as Severus leaned over him once more. The Potions master swore inwardly as he felt the heat pulsing under his hand. Potter was burning up.

'Stay here,' Severus said quietly, withdrawing his hand and turning quickly to sweep from the room.

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Harry shivered as he watched Snape go. He felt awful. His head was throbbing, and the tickle in his throat from earlier in the day had become like razor blades, protesting every time he swallowed. Even his skin seemed achy and uncomfortable. He wished – though he felt slightly ashamed and childish for doing so – that the headmaster would return.

Snape re-entered the bedroom barely a minute later, balancing a small tray on which Harry could see several phials of potion and a glass tube he thought might be an old-fashioned thermometer. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed while the professor set the tray on the night table, watching him warily.

Snape eyed him critically for a moment, then turned to the tray he'd brought in and picked up the thermometer. 'Lie back,' he said to Harry, his voice uncharacteristically neutral, 'and open up.'

Harry stared at him blankly, thrown by the tone of his voice and a bit nervous about all the bottles he'd brought into the room.

'I'm fine, professor,' he said quickly, though the hoarse tone of his voice quickly negated the statement. 'It was only a nightmare. I get them, sometimes.'

Snape crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, beginning to look impatient. 'I disagree. And it is _my_ opinion that matters. Now, lie back, Potter!' Snape said, with a little more of his usual rancour. Harry reclined quickly on the bed.

'Can't you take it with your wand, professor?' He asked, eying the thermometer with distrust as Snape began to shake it down.

'No.' Snape answered shortly. 'The spell is not sufficiently accurate where the wizard is underage, and high fevers in young wizards can be difficult to predict and potentially dangerous. As I would rather the headmaster not take _my_ head for failing to properly address this situation, I will need to know precisely what I am dealing with. So, open up, Potter.' Harry sighed and opened his mouth, allowing the Potions professor to slip the thermometer inside. 'Under your tongue, and keep it there. Three minutes,' the professor added, sweeping from the room again.

Harry wriggled a bit on the bed as the professor left, trying to find a comfortable position without dislodging the thermometer. He wished Snape would have doused the candle - his eyes were so achy…. He shut them, trying to block out what he could of the flickering light…

'Potter!'

Harry jumped a little as the professor's sharp voice shook him from the beginnings of sleep again. Snape definitely looked annoyed now. He noticed with chagrin that the thermometer had fallen out of his mouth as he nodded off, and quickly picked it up from the bedclothes. Snape was not pleased.

'I said three minutes, Potter! Or are you incapable of following the simplest directions?' Snape barked at him, snatching the thermometer from his hand and shaking it down once more, 'Under your tongue at once, and _hold_ it there, boy! If you find yourself completely unable, I shall endeavour to ascertain your temperature in what I assure you will be a significantly less comfortable and altogether more _embarrassing_ manner.'

Despite his pallor, Harry flushed deeply at Snape's insinuation. 'Sorry sir,' he muttered immediately, obediently taking the thermometer from the professor's hand and putting it back into his mouth.

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Snape's glower darkened as he heard the roughness in the boy's voice had increased even since last he spoke, and he merely nodded his acknowledgement as Potter obeyed. In truth, he felt distinctly awkward, and a little concerned. Plus, it was so _typical_ of Dumbledore to leave him in such a mess! Poppy would be enjoying her time off with family until at least mid-August, and Minerva was somewhere in Isle of Skye visiting her nieces. If Potter was ill, he would have to deal with the situation on his own.

Of course, in his time at Hogwarts, he had seen – and sometimes comforted – many ill or injured students. It was a necessary evil of a Head of House. At the change of season, some disgusting pestilence usually raged through the student body to some degree or other. However, while term was in session, his duties in such a scenario were normally limited to sending said student to hospital wing for care, or occasionally watching over a student until the mediwitch could be located. A few times each year he restocked the potions cupboard in the hospital wing for Poppy, or made a particular brew if a student came down with something less common. But he rarely needed to interact with the ill child when that sort of thing came up. And he'd _never_ nursed a child himself, in nearly twelve years at the school.

He did not particularly wish to play matron now. And he _really_ did not want to start with _Potter._

The three minutes elapsed, and Severus dragged himself from his musings to take the thermometer from Potter's mouth. Despite his effort after the professor's admonishment, it was clear the boy was losing his battle with consciousness even while he continued to shiver and shift uncomfortably on the bed. Swallowing his growing unease, Severus glanced at the mercury level.

39.5. Damn it. The boy was going to need potions – immediately. He sighed.

'Sit up a bit, Potter,' he said, trying to keep his voice as neutral as he could. Potter blinked sluggishly but pushed himself up, coughing a little as he changed positions. He looked utterly miserable.

'You are running quite a temperature. I am going to give you a potion to reduce the fever, but I need to run a diagnostic spell first.' As he spoke, Severus removed his wand from the outer pocket of his robe. When Potter looked up at him with something like fear in his eyes, the professor forced himself to meet the gaze with as much reassurance as he could stand to give. 'Do not worry yourself. It is not a painful incantation, and takes only a few moments.'

He waited for the boy to nod, then swept his wand over the prone figure from head to toe in one fluid movement and said ' _Egritudo!_ ' A tiny scroll appeared at the professor's eye-level, while a golden beam of light seemed to scan slowly over Potter's body.

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Harry watched, fascinated, as the golden beam worked its way down his torso. It didn't hurt, exactly, but the magic seemed to thrum lightly as it passed over him, making his hair stand on end. Looking up from the odd spell, he saw that the little scroll of parchment was making notes – presumably reading the magical scan. As the light finally reached his feet, it dissipated. The scroll fell softly onto the bedcovers, and Snape snapped it up and began to read, a frown of concentration on his face.

'Hmm,' Snape muttered, reaching the end of the scroll. 'There is no sign of magical illness, which is reassuring, as they can be much more difficult to treat. The scan shows inflammation in your left ear, throat, and sinuses, as well as moderate congestion in your chest.' He vanished the parchment with his wand as he finished listing the findings, and turned his gaze to Harry again. 'Is that consistent with how you are feeling, Potter?'

Harry nodded. When Snape's eyes continued to bore into his – clearly waiting for more of an explanation – he spoke aloud.

'Yes, sir. I've a headache and a sore throat, and just feel… rather achy all over I guess.' He gave a one armed shrug and fidgeted again, feeling vulnerable at sharing his discomfort with a man who so clearly disliked him. But Snape, to his surprise, did not seem in a mood to ridicule him.

'When did you begin to feel ill?'

Harry thought for a moment. 'I don't know exactly, sir,' he said finally. 'I suppose this morning – or yesterday morning, I'm not sure if it's morning again yet –'

'It is half two, Potter.'

'Right,' said Harry, playing with a stray bit of string from his duvet. 'Yesterday morning then. When I woke up. I felt a bit off and my throat was sort of scratchy, but I didn't truly realise I might be unwell until I woke up tonight. And then I thought at first it was just… from my nightmare…'

He trailed off, lost in thought about what he had seen. When he looked up again, Snape was staring at him, an inscrutable expression on his face.

Harry, thinking Snape might be cross with him, hurried on, 'It's not that bad, really, professor. I've had this sort of thing before, at the Dursleys'. It usually goes away after a sleep. You don't have to worry about giving me potions or anything.'

Harry didn't add that his aunt and uncle would sooner have eaten glass than taken care of him while he was ill. Usually, they just put him in his cupboard to protect Dudley from germs. If he was really in a bad way, Aunt Petunia might give him a dose of cough medicine or paracetamol with a meagre bowl of broth (through the smallest crack in the door she could manage, and with high kitchen gloves on). They'd never have let him die of fever – he didn't _think_ – but nobody had ever bothered to look after him when he was ill on Privet Drive either. And aside from his brief stay in Hospital Wing at the end of the year – which was really more for exhaustion than anything else – he'd never been in the infirmary at Hogwarts.

'Don't be ridiculous, you foolish child,' Snape snapped. 'Fevers this high do not go away on their own. Unfortunately, whatever this illness is, a Pepper-Up Potion is unlikely to help at this stage. The potion is not recommended once fever is present. If you had mentioned feeling unwell earlier, we may have been able to prevent this.'

Harry blushed again, feeling chastised and a little humiliated. If Snape noticed, he ignored it.

'However, I shall give you a fever reducer and an anti-inflammatory potion, which will hopefully help with some of your symptoms. There is no potion to cure common flu, but we will see how you feel in the morning.' Snape reached for the phials on the tray he'd brought in earlier, and measured out a portion of bright blue liquid into a small goblet.

'This is the antipyretic,' he said, still in the same neutral tone, as he handed the goblet to Harry. 'It should reduce the fever.'

Harry took the cup in slightly shaky hands and sniffed the potion, a feeling of dread settling on him as he noted an odour like milk gone off. Snape scoffed.

'Take it, Potter.'

Harry grimaced, but gulped the potion as quickly as he could, trying to avoid getting any on his tongue. He coughed a bit as he swallowed, unable to avoid the nasty taste entirely. Then he shivered more violently still as the potion seemed to spread immediately through his system. It felt like his insides were being coated with a thin layer of ice. For one panicky moment, Harry feared that Snape had poisoned him… but then as quickly as the feeling had arisen, it began to fade. Harry noticed that some of the uncomfortable achiness started to ease as the icy chill inside him subsided. He sighed a little in relief. Snape seemed to be hiding a smirk as he measured out another dose of potion.

'And the anti-inflammatory. This will help with your throat and head.' He handed a second goblet to Harry, this one a bit fuller, with a dark orange liquid inside. Harry noted that the potion seemed to be odourless this time, although the contents were considerably thicker than the fever reducer and bubbling gently, almost like the potion was carbonated. He tipped the cup back and attempted, again, to down the contents as quickly as possible.

' _Blech_!'

He couldn't suppress a sputter and a disgusted face as he swallowed the potion. This one tasted bitterly of copper – like licking a Muggle coin. He tried valiantly to scrape his tongue against his teeth and remove the lingering aftertaste. Snape, in what Harry considered an astonishing act of kindness, silently handed him a glass of water. Harry downed it gratefully. As he finished the water, he saw Snape was measuring out a third potion, this one a deep purple colour. He poured a spoonful and held the spoon out to Harry.

'This is Dreamless Sleep, Potter. You need some proper rest in order to heal.' He held the spoon toward Harry's mouth, but did not relinquish his grip as Harry moved to take it. 'It works rather quickly,' he said in explanation, maintaining his hold on the spoon handle.

Harry sighed, but allowed the professor to tip the spoonful of potion into his mouth without protest. He felt his eyelids droop immediately, the bed seeming to cradle his heavy body as he sank deeper into the mattress.

'Thanks,' he managed to slur out, as he drifted rapidly into the darkness.

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Severus nodded in acknowledgement and satisfaction as he watched Potter fall into sleep once more. He set about capping the various potions and cleansing the spoon and thermometer, then picked up the tray and headed for the door. At the threshold, he looked back on the sleeping child. He glanced down at the sweaty bedclothes. No sense in making the boy worse. With a practised movement, he muttered a quick spell and swept his wand over the bed. Immediately, the sheets became crisp and dry once more. Severus strode from the room, dousing the candle before shutting the door.

Back in the Headmaster's study, Severus sat on one of the sofas and pondered the situation. He really should get to bed, if he didn't want to be completely useless in the morning. He suspected, with trepidation, that whatever illness Potter had managed to contract was likely to get worse before it got better. It seemed nothing more than a common Muggle flu, but he knew children could be whingy and petulant when feverish, and he didn't relish the thought of tending to the eleven-year-old all day. Again, he wished that Poppy or Minerva were still at the castle. Or that Dumbledore would return. After all, housing Potter at the castle all summer had been _Albus's_ idea. _He_ could deal with the invalid brat.

He wondered briefly whether he ought not write to the Headmaster, or floo him, to tell him of the situation. But he dismissed the thought at once. It wouldn't do to have Albus overly worried about the Golden Boy while handling such delicate negotiations abroad, and Severus wouldn't want him to think that he, Severus Snape, could not handle one child for less than 48 hours without catastrophe. No – he would turn in for the night, and reassess in the morning. He could always send a message to the International Confederation if he needed to reach Dumbledore the following day.

His thoughts, for the moment, at a standstill, Severus waived his wand to dim the lamps in the study, and headed up to bed.

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A cry from the boy's room woke him a little past 7:00 in the morning. Severus sat up at once, immediately alert. The cry was not repeated, but in the stillness of the early morning he could hear the child having a violent coughing fit through the walls. He quickly got out of bed, pulling his dressing gown from the bedpost and tying the sash around his waist as he slipped into his house shoes. He brushed his hand over his face and walked brusquely for his bedroom door, pulling the wand from his right pocket.

' _Accio,'_ he muttered, pointing his wand at the tray of potions and supplies he'd left on the table in the corridor last night, and catching it as it floated toward him. He pushed open the door to Potter's room, and took in a sharp breath.

The boy was thrashing in his sleep, the bedclothes a tangled mass about him. He was deathly pale but for the flush of fever in his cheeks, and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. On the floor beside the bed, there was a significant puddle of what Severus was sure was sick. Severus was stunned, and more than a little concerned. The potions he'd given the child in the middle of the night should not have worn off so quickly. Even as he watched, Potter gave a laboured gasp for breath and hunched in on himself, racked with a hacking and painful-sounding cough.

Shaking himself from his frozen position on the threshold of the room, Severus set the tray on the night table again, vanished the puddle of sick with an impatient flick of his wand, and reached for Potter's shoulders with both hands, turning the small body onto his back. His shirt was damp with sweat, the skin beneath it boiling.

'Potter, Potter!' Severus called, shaking the child lightly. He didn't wake. Severus shook him more roughly, trying to pull the boy's torso up a little against the frame of the bed.

'Potter! _HARRY_!' he shouted, growing desperate now. At last, the boy's eyes fluttered open; but their emerald green was shrouded with fevered glass, and his gaze was decidedly unfocused. 'What's wrong, Potter? Where does it hurt?' The boy was breathing rapidly, his eyes still trying to focus on Severus' face. But he did not respond.

'Right… Alright, hold on, Potter,' he said, trying to keep his own panic at bay when it became clear the child was not going to reply. Albus would _kill_ him if something happened to the Golden Boy.

He kept one hand on the boy's shoulder, trying to hold him upright on the bed. With his other hand, Severus quickly conjured a damp flannel, and began to mop the child's face lightly. Potter flinched back and whinged pathetically as the cold cloth hit him, but slowly relaxed as it soothed the fevered heat from his brow. His eyes began to shut again.

'No, Potter. Try and stay awake for me.' Snape said, folding the flannel into thirds and laying it gently across the boy's forehead. Potter's hand moved at once to touch it, but Severus caught his wrist and dragged his arm firmly back down again. 'Leave the flannel. It will help your fever.' He said, as he reached for the thermometer on the night stand. He didn't bother having Potter hold it this time, not while the child was so clearly out of it, but coaxed the instrument under the boy's tongue himself and held his lips firmly closed. They sat there in silence – the boy clearly on the edge of sleep, and Severus tensely watching the hand of his watch while the three minutes ticked by.

When Severus removed the thermometer, what had previously been concern flared into full-blown fear. Potter was running a temperature of over 40 degrees.

Severus risked taking his other hand from Potter's shoulder, hoping he would remain against the headboard while the professor dealt with the potions. He selected a phial of stronger fever reducer this time and didn't bother with a goblet, opting instead to tip the entire contents into Potter's mouth. He quickly held the boy's jaw shut as Potter bucked beneath him, instantly rejecting the foul-tasting potion.

'Do not spit it out, Potter!' he said firmly, trying to make his voice as kind as possible even while he forcibly restrained the child. 'I am sorry, but we need to bring that fever down.' Potter whimpered again, but grudgingly swallowed. Snape waited a moment to be sure he'd truly ingested the entire dose before releasing his hold on the boy's jaw.

'Potter,' he said softly, seeing the boy's eyes were now open but glaring at him with a mixture of anger, pain and confusion. 'I know you are feeling poorly, but I need you to _tell_ me where it hurts.'

Potter made to speak, but his voice was rough and hoarse. He dissolved almost instantly into another coughing fit. Severus held a glass of water to his lips, and let him drink a few mouthfuls. He could tell that it pained the boy to swallow. After half the glass was gone, Severus set it aside.

'Please,' Potter rasped, looking for the water again.

'You can have more in a few moments,' Severus said in answer. 'But you need to take it slowly or you might sick up again.' Potter looked confused, and Severus realised he probably did not remember getting ill in the night. 'How are you feeling?' he asked instead, trying to draw the boy back to his original question. Potter grimaced.

'Not well, sir,' he mumbled, his arms folding protectively around his knees while he gazed determinedly at a spot on the bed. Severus refrained from rolling his eyes with great difficulty.

'Obviously,' he said, trying to keep his sarcasm to a minimum. 'Can you tell me what aches?' The boy hunched his shoulders and mumbled something unintelligible. 'A little louder, Potter, if you would,' Snape said, bending a bit closer to the bed and attempting not to lose his temper.

'Everything sir,' the child said finally, looking up at him and seeming very close to tears. 'My throat, my chest, my head, my ears, my eyes… even my skin is hurting.' He said all this very quickly, and sent himself into another fit of coughing. Snape stood awkwardly for a moment, then offered the water again.

'Sip it slowly, or you will be sick,' he warned as he handed over the glass. Potter nodded, and drank gratefully. Severus took the now empty glass and set it aside once more.

'Alright, Potter. I am going to give you another dose of the anti-inflammatory – don't look at me like that, you clearly need it. And you need to take a potion for that cough. I do not want this illness to settle in your chest.' He measured out the potions, and the boy took them without too much additional fuss. As he straightened the tray again, he saw Potter was wiping inconspicuously at his eyes. It seemed he'd given in to the tears. Against his will, Snape found his hand resting briefly on the child's small shoulder.

'It will be alright, Potter,' he said, stiffly. The shoulder, he noticed, still felt too warm under his hand, despite the stronger antipyretic. And yet the child continued to shiver in his sweat-soaked clothes. He muttered a quick freshening charm, and saw Potter sigh gratefully as his clothes and sheets became clean and dry. 'That should make you feel a little better. Now try and get some sleep. I will check in on you shortly.'

Potter nodded and reclined again, brushing the remaining tear tracks from his cheeks. Severus waited until the child had shut his eyes, then backed from the room. He left the door cracked so he would better hear if the boy became restless or sick again.

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Not two hours later he was back, trying to hold Potter upright as he sicked up violently into a conjured basin. The child was shivering worse than ever, his fever stubbornly refusing to abate. Snape conjured flannel after flannel, bathing the child's forehead as he fell in and out of delirium, force-feeding him potions every few hours, and trying to quiet his coughing. Severus feared the boy would fracture a rib if the hacking didn't stop soon, and his breathing had turned shallow and wheezy. Even with a Breathe-Ease Potion that Severus forced on him around midday, Potter still seemed unable to catch his breath. He could barely keep water down, let alone any sustenance, and Severus could tell from the cracked lips and mottled skin that he was growing dangerously dehydrated. By supper, Severus was certain he would have to either track down Poppy or take the boy to St Mungo's, before things became disastrous. He'd never seen a child fall so ill so quickly. Potter was crying, Severus was annoyed, they were both exhausted, and Severus felt completely at a loss.

As he finished dosing Potter with yet another round of potions at nightfall – including another spoonful of dreamless sleep – he placed an ever-cool charmed flannel across his forehead and summoned a Hogwarts house-elf to the boy's bedroom.

'Yes sir, how can Mina help?' The little elf squeaked as she popped into the room at Severus' call. She spied the hunched form on the bed and gave a terrified squeak.

'Oh, Master Harry, Master Harry!' she squealed, running for the bed. Severus grasped her by the arm and pulled her up short.

'Leave him, Mina, please,' he said, not unkindly. 'He's only now fallen asleep, and he is exhausted.'

'But, Master Snape, sir,' the elf pleaded, turning tear-filled eyes on the Potions professor, 'What is wrong with young Master? Why is he needing to be sleeping so early in the night?'

Severus sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. 'Potter has fallen ill. It seemed a flu at first, but now it appears it may be something more serious. I need you to watch over him for a short while, while I figure out what to do from here.'

The elf nodded, her eyes trained once again on the child in the bed. 'Mina is doing it, sir,' she said. 'Mina will watch Master Harry all night if she is ordered to.'

'That will not be necessary, Mina,' Snape said. 'I shall not be long.' He released the elf and made for the door to the room. 'Just let him sleep, for now, and keep an eye on him. I will be in the study. Inform me at once if his fever spikes again, if he worsens, or if he wakes.' He waited for the elf to agree, then quickly left the bedchamber.

It was time to contact Albus.

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Albus was headed into the dining room at the Château de Glace when a slight witch in the periwinkle robes of the staff hurried up to him from the opposite end of the long corridor.

'Monsieur Dumbledore,' she called, raising a hand to grab his attention and halting the headmaster just before he turned into the room. Albus stopped immediately and turned to face the witch, his expression politely inquisitive.

'Je m'excuse, monsieur,' she said in a lilting accent. 'But zere is a call for you, monsieur, on the floo. We 'ave 'ad it transferred to one of ze side rooms for you, off of ze entrance 'all.' She indicated back toward the way she had come as she finished delivering the message. Albus frowned at her, puzzled.

'Why did the staff not take a message for me to return the call later?' he asked in confusion. 'I am afraid, with the state of these negotiations at the moment, I will have to deal with all other business after the conclusion of the conference. I let the concierge know as much when we started the session.'

The little witch frowned slightly, but said, 'We are aware of your request, monsieur, but zis caller was most insistent. 'E says it is a matter of some urgency.'

Albus opened his mouth to inquire further, but at that moment a blindingly white, transparent doe appeared in the corridor before him. The witch jumped back in fright, exclaiming in French at the sudden apparition, but Dumbledore merely looked concerned as he recognised the patronus.

'Headmaster,' the doe spoke brusquely, 'The floo. Now.'

With its short message delivered, the doe vanished into silver mist. The French woman stared at the place it had stood, still holding a shaking hand over her heart.

'Please, give my apologies to the others at dinner,' Albus said quickly, already striding down the corridor. 'I shall attempt to finish this business expediently, and re-join the meeting as soon as I can.' The woman nodded at his retreating form and, shaking herself from the strange encounter, turned to enter the dining room in his place. Albus, meanwhile, took the remainder of the passage at a run, stopping at the desk in the foyer only long enough to inquire of the concierge to which room his call had been transferred. He hurried through the door the wizard indicated and shut it firmly behind him, throwing up a silencing charm and warding the threshold against intruders and eavesdroppers. He turned to face the fireplace, his wand still in hand as he knelt on the hearth.

'Severus,' he spoke to the floating head, 'What has happened?'


	7. Potions, Potions Masters, and Poisons

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 7: Potions, Potions Masters, and Poisons**

'Headmaster,' Severus greeted Albus through the flames. He didn't mince his words. 'Potter has been ill – very ill – since late last night. I have given him various antipyretics and potions for his symptoms, but he is showing no response.'

Albus frowned, his eyebrows drawing together in concern. 'Did you run a diagnostic?' he asked.

Severus felt somewhat affronted. 'Of course, headmaster. It was nonspecific. I do not think this is a magical illness, but –'

'How high is his fever?' Albus cut in.

'It has been fluctuating, but I cannot seem to bring it much below 40 degrees,' Severus answered. 'His throat, sinuses, and ears seem to be infected, and he is vomiting. But what concern me the most at present are his lungs. The congestion in his chest seems to be worsening despite the potions, and he is having great difficulty breathing. I think it may be dangerous to wait much longer before seeking professional help, but I am hesitant to take him to St Mungo's… it may raise awkward questions.'

Albus rose to his feet, pacing a few times before the fireplace, apparently gathering his thoughts. He turned after a minute to face Severus again. 'Who is with Harry now?'

'A house-elf, headmaster. I believe her name was Mina.'

Albus nodded, drumming his finger against his chin. 'Go back to him, Severus, and keep trying to keep him stable. I shall return to Hogwarts immediately, but it will take me around an hour to gather my things here and get to the international portkey location.'

Severus nodded, incredibly relieved that Albus was going to take over from here. He waited for Albus's dismissal, then pulled out of the fireplace. He took a moment to collect himself – it was incredibly disorienting to floo-call internationally, because you had to go through multiple points of transfer in order to reach your destination. Wizards were not permitted to actually transport themselves by floo from country to country, as most governments set up national wards to prevent unregulated travel. Albus could probably have removed the wards himself, but Severus knew the headmaster would hesitate to do so in the midst of international negotiations. Instead, Albus would have to travel to Calais by apparition and take an officially sanctioned portkey back to Hogsmeade. Even so, the trip should not take him long.

Once he felt he had his bearings again, he rose to his feet and headed back for Potter's room. Mina was seated on a short stool next to Potter's head, sponging at his brow. Like everyone else save Severus, the little elf seemed completely enamoured with the brat. He cleared his throat to signal his presence to the elf. She turned at once.

'Young master is so hot,' she said seriously to Severus. 'Much too hot, Master Snape.' Severus frowned, and approached the bed. He placed his hand on Potter's forehead again. The child felt as feverish as ever. He sighed.

'Indeed,' he said softly. 'You may go, Mina. I will take over from here.' The elf looked reluctant to leave, but recognised the dismissal. She nodded, and disapparated with a crack. Severus transfigured the stool into an armchair and conjured another flannel for Potter's brow, counting the minutes until the headmaster's return.

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Albus, meanwhile, had rushed back to his quarters at the Château de Glace, quickly spelled his possessions into his travelling case, and shrunk the bag so it would fit into his pocket. He did a quick sweep of the room to ensure he had everything, then headed quickly for the dining hall, where everyone else was still at dinner. His late entrance and the travelling cloak he'd fastened over his robes caused some raised eyebrows. Albus made for his place at the centre of the long table, but did not take his seat. Instead, he waited until all eyes had fixed on him, then cleared his throat for attention.

'I apologise for my late arrival,' he began, 'and I'm afraid I cannot stay. An emergency has arisen back at Hogwarts that I must see to at once, and thus I fear I shall have to leave you this evening. I do wish the Confederation the best in resolving these crucial issues in the remainder of the conference, and emphasise that I am always available by owl if my advice is desired or needed as these discussions continue. I urge you all to lead with your conscience, and give due consideration not only to what is best for us all at the present time, but what sort of precedent we wish to set for future generations.'

With that, Albus exited the hall again. He could hear the gossip breaking out immediately in his wake, but he paid no mind. His thoughts now were entirely trained on Hogwarts, and on Harry.

Fifteen minutes later, Albus had apparated to Calais, where he would be able to take an international portkey to Hogsmeade. After a quick conversation with the administrator working the counter, he was able to secure an old tyre lever, and a few minutes later found himself on the darkened high street of the familiar Scottish town. Wasting no time, he apparated quickly from the edge of the village street to the gates of Hogwarts, and entered the grounds at a brisk walk. He made his way across the silent park, through the castle, and past the gargoyle to his own quarters. Albus could hear Harry's barking cough even from the study. He strode quickly across the room and up the staircase toward the sleeping quarters. The door to the child's room was slightly ajar, and Albus pushed it open as he entered.

'Severus,' he called quietly. The man turned at once to face him, relief evident on his face. Albus could see that the Potions master held a damp flannel in one hand.

'Headmaster,' he breathed in greeting, the cool indifference in his tone not quite masking his concern. Albus' gaze was drawn immediately, however, to Harry's slight form on the bed. The child was ghostly pale, sweating, and shaking. Although he looked to be asleep, Harry's breathing was laboured and his discomfort was clear even in unconsciousness. Albus moved toward him automatically, and Severus rose quickly to step out of the way.

The headmaster knelt down next to the bed, his hand smoothing back Harry's sweaty fringe to rest on his forehead. His frown deepened as he felt the heat of the fever.

'Oh, Harry,' he said softly, stroking his fingers through the child's hair. He did not stir. Without looking up, Albus addressed Severus again.

'Send for Poppy at once,' he said. 'She is staying at her sister's in Brighton. You should be able to find the address somewhere on my desk. Tell her what has happened. We will need her assistance. Then, if you would, please call for Minerva. I do not wish to alarm her, but she would have my head if I did not inform her of this.'

'Of course, Albus,' Severus said. He departed for the study at once.

Albus rose from his knees and took up Severus's chair at Harry's bedside, continuing the stroking of his hair. Harry broke into another coughing fit, tossing restlessly on the bed. Albus tried to sit him up a bit to ease the pressure on his chest, but he couldn't keep the squirming child in position. The coughing continued, and Harry seemed unable to catch his breath. Alarmed, Albus climbed onto the bed himself and sat against the headboard, drawing the child against him so he was almost seated in his lap. He rubbed his back soothingly, waiting for the fit to pass. At last, Harry quieted, his head lolling back to rest against the headmaster's chest. His breath still came in wheezes, but the change in position seemed to ease some of the strain on his lungs. Albus adjusted himself against the headboard and put one arm protectively around Harry's stomach, holding him in place. With the other hand, he resumed the carding of his hair.

Severus re-entered the room minutes later. He looked a little surprised at the headmaster's new positioning, but did not comment. 'Poppy will be here within the hour, Albus, she needs to pick up some supplies first,' he said, moving toward the bed. 'She says that we should try and wake him to hydrate him, if we can.'

Albus nodded. 'Thank you, Severus. And were you able to reach Minerva?'

'I spoke with one of her nieces – Ophelia, I believe. She said that Minerva had gone out on a walk through the village, but was expected back shortly. I did not leave the details, but asked that she have Minerva floo you immediately upon her return.'

Albus inclined his head again. 'Thank you.' He looked down at the sleeping child in his arms again. 'I suppose we had better try and wake him, then. Would you mind fetching a glass of water? Or perhaps juice would be better, actually, since you've said he has been unable to keep any food down of late.'

Severus pulled out his wand obligingly, and gave it a wave. A moment later, he caught the summoned glass of pumpkin juice, setting it on the night stand. Albus, meanwhile, began to stroke Harry's cheek, calling softly. After a minute or so of this, Harry's eyelids began to flutter. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his unfocused gaze coming up to the headmaster's face.

'Harry,' Albus said, smiling down at the child.

'Pr-professor,' Harry breathed, his voice raspy with illness and sleep. 'You came back.' The relief and obvious need in his voice tugged at Albus's heartstrings.

'Indeed, child,' he said in agreement, stroking Harry's hair once. 'Professor Snape sent for me this evening, and I came at once. I am sorry you've been feeling so unwell.'

'But your conference –' Harry began, breaking off abruptly as he sent himself into a coughing fit again. Albus shifted the child and rubbed circles into his back, trying to ease his breathing.

'Ssh… just relax now. The conference will continue without me. There are more important things,' he assured him firmly. 'Madam Pomfrey will be here soon, and we'll get you feeling better. Right now, however, I want to check your temperature again, and then we need you to drink something, alright? You are growing dangerously dehydrated.' Harry nodded weakly, and Albus held out his hand for the thermometer that Severus had retrieved from the night table. He slipped it gently into the child's mouth, and they sat in silence for a few minutes while they waited for the reading to register.

'Still 40.1,' Albus said with concern after removing the instrument. 'I don't want to give you any more potions until Poppy has had the chance to look you over. But please try and drink the pumpkin juice, Harry, slowly.' He offered the glass to Harry, but kept a hand around it to steady the drink, as Harry's own were shaky and weak. Harry drank about a third of the juice, then pushed the glass away again.

'I can't have any more right now, sir,' he said hoarsely. 'I might be sick again.' Albus nodded, and handed the glass over to Severus, who was hovering awkwardly at the bedside. At that moment, Albus heard his own name echo from downstairs, in Minerva's familiar Scottish brogue.

'Ah,' he said, his eyes twinkling a bit. 'I do believe Minerva got your message, Severus. Would you mind receiving her call? I do not wish to leave Harry just now.'

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Severus nodded in reply, and headed out of the little room again. He heard Minerva call from the floo once more, her voice a touch impatient, and quickened his pace. He entered the study to see Minerva's head floating in the flames, showing an expression of mingled confusion and concern.

'Severus,' she greeted him primly. 'Ophelia said you'd asked me to call? What's going on? I called for Albus at the conference, but was told by the concierge that he'd left earlier this evening. Has something happened?'

'Albus returned about an hour ago,' Severus replied. 'Potter has fallen ill. We have sent for Poppy – she should be here shortly.'

Minerva's eyebrows contracted. 'How ill, Severus?' she pressed.

Severus refrained from rolling his eyes with great effort. He was growing tired of relating the tale. 'He has been running a high fever and having some respiratory distress, among other symptoms. The headmaster is sitting with him now.' Minerva's concern appeared to deepen. She bit her lip for a moment, then seemed to reach some sort of resolution.

'Step back, Severus. I'm coming through.'

Severus straightened and stepped back from the hearth as Minerva came through the floo, brushing ash from the sleeves of her robes.

'Where are they?' she asked briskly.

'In Potter's room. Upstairs,' Severus answered. The Transfiguration professor took off for the staircase without another word. Severus teetered for a moment, uncertain as to what to do, then followed at a slower pace.

In short order, he found himself once again in the boy's bedchamber, looking in from the doorway on an odd little scene. Albus was still seated on the bed and holding Harry against his chest, both arms now wrapped around the child. Minerva had placed herself in the chair he had occupied for so many hours alone. She was leaned over the bed, and had taken over Albus's ministrations – running one hand through Potter's hair and grasping his right hand in her left. Severus could hear her whispering quietly with Albus. It appeared the child had fallen into a doze again. Severus felt strangely like he was interrupting a very personal family scene – the spectre at the feast. The thought made him feel oddly hollow and a little annoyed. He hovered awkwardly in the doorway, unwilling to enter farther but at the same time wanting to draw their attention to his presence.

It was Albus who noticed him first.

'I could not seem to keep him awake,' he said in explanation, inclining his head toward the dozing boy. 'But he has kept the juice down, for now. I think it alright if he rests until Poppy comes – his strength is spent.' He looked down at the child's form with such tenderness that Severus felt slightly nauseous.

'Perhaps I shall wait for Poppy in the study, Headmaster,' Severus suggested, keen to remove himself from the brat's bedroom now he was free to abandon his vigil. Albus nodded, and Severus swept from the room again to await the mediwitch.

Alone in the study, Severus sat on the headmaster's sofa, staring into the flames. He felt the turmoil of his thoughts. He did not like Potter. He found him rash, reckless, and at times as arrogant as his father before him. He thought the headmaster and the other professors gave the brat far too much leeway. Most of all, he thought the Golden Boy had far too little talent and far too little appreciation for his own mortality to complete the monstrous task he knew the child would one day face. The task that, on some level, Severus felt _he_ had thrust on this child's shoulders. And that frightened him.

But even so, he certainly didn't _wish_ more harm on the Golden Child. It was his fault – Severus's fault – that Harry Potter was parentless. It was his own foolish pride that had taken Lily from this world, the one person he'd always depended on… the one person he had loved. He owed something to Harry Potter, because he had taken something away. A life debt. He hated that.

It was why Severus had been the one to visit the Dursleys four days ago.

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He had come to Dumbledore in the middle of the night, long after he knew the boy would be asleep. He'd found Albus still pacing in his study, preparing for the conference. Minerva hadn't been there, to his great relief. He'd made the request. Albus had been rather surprised, and offered to send Minerva instead, but Severus had insisted. He had been the reason for Harry's need of Petunia's protection. It was right that he should see to the fall out. Albus had acquiesced.

'Do try to keep your temper, Severus,' Albus had said, as Severus prepared to leave the office. 'Remember that a time may come in future when we need the Dursleys, alive.'

Severus's eyes had glinted. His right hand, unbidden, had gone to his left forearm, closing over the Mark that he knew still marred the flesh, even while its strength and ink had faded with the passing of a decade and the disappearance of its master.

'I know, Albus,' Severus had replied. 'I do not forget.'

He had swept from the room, his temper smooth and contained, for the moment. He disapparated from the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, coming to land in near silence at the end of the driveway to Number 4, Privet Drive.

He had recognised the house. He'd been there once before, ten years ago. He'd come in the early evening at the start of the Christmas holiday at Hogwarts, under cover of newly fallen darkness, his heart still torn afresh with grief for Lily. He hadn't been sure, then, why he'd come. Some part of him had needed to see the child he'd sworn his life to protect. Lily's boy. Potter's spawn. The living proof that Lily had chosen another – the worst alternate path to happiness with him that Severus could have imagined.

He'd looked through the window of the sitting room on that occasion. He hadn't told Albus he would be visiting, and he didn't want Potter's relatives to spot his presence. He saw a little family through the window, recognising Petunia's dirty blonde hair and horsey face, even though it had been many years since last he'd seen her. She was seated on the sofa with her husband, cooing over a fat little blonde child in her lap. The toddler was gurgling with pleasure, swiping a pudgy fist at her hair, and shaking a stuffed toy in one hand. The man – Vernon Dursley, Severus suspected – sat alternating his attention between his son and the television set. At first, Severus had not seen another child in the room at all. Casting a disillusionment charm on himself, he moved to the windows on the other end of the room, from which he could better study the faces of the people in the house.

He could see the Potter baby now, the blood red scar prominent on his forehead. The little boy was seated in a corner of the room, penned in by some sort of Muggle child fence. He was watching the three on the sofa with a trembling lip, though Severus did not see him cry. As the Potions master watched, the child pulled himself up on the bars of the play fence, he eyes coming up sharply to look Severus straight in the face. Severus took an involuntary step backward, though he knew his spell should hide him from the child's notice. Still, he couldn't help the feeling that the boy knew he was there. His gaze intensified for a moment as he seemed to search the glass of the window. Severus was struck by the uncanny resemblance to Lily. The child was clearly Potter's spawn, for the most part – all untidy black hair, with James' handsome skin tone and something of his father in the set of his tiny shoulders. But those emerald eyes were all Lily. They pierced right to Severus's damaged soul.

After a moment or two, the child seemed to lose interest in his search of the window. He plopped down again in his corner, one small hand fisting in the thread of the carpet, the other going to his mouth. He suckled at his fingers, watching his aunt, uncle, and cousin on the sofa. Petunia's son was squirming, eager to get down to the floor. Severus watched her lower the boy carefully to the carpet, where he toddled into the centre of the room, gurgling nonsense words as he played with the stuffed toy. Severus could see Harry watching him with longing in his expression, his own hands empty. Suddenly, the little black-haired toddler's gaze intensified, and he thrust his arms out in front of him. To Severus's surprise, the toy in the blonde child's hands suddenly broke free, flying in an arc through the air to land in front of Potter. Severus was rather impressed despite himself. After all, Harry Potter could not yet be even eighteen months.

The blonde child screamed, throwing himself to the ground and pounding his fists in an almighty tantrum.

Potter seemed to know he was in trouble. He pushed the stuffed toy behind him, looking around in fear. Petunia got quickly to her feet, gathering her son into her arms and cooing at him. She turned to face her husband, passing the boy to his outstretched hands.

'It's that freakish nonsense,' she spat at Vernon, shooting a dark glance over at the young wizard in the corner. 'Just like my sister he'll be if we don't watch out. Stealing Diddy's toys and causing mayhem wherever he goes.' The man had barked something in agreement, and Petunia strode over to the corner. She pulled the toy from its ineffectual hiding place, and tossed it toward her husband on the sofa.

'Give that back to Dudley, Vernon. I'll put this one off to bed.'

She pulled the little boy by the arm up off the ground, and delivered one smart smack to his bottom. 'You are not to take things that aren't yours, freak,' she said harshly to the child. 'And you do _not_ take Dudley's things – _ever_ ,' she shouted, landing another spank.

The Potter boy began to cry, more out of shock than pain, Severus guessed. Petunia kept him bent over her arm as she toted him from the room and out of sight. Severus waited a bit longer, but neither she nor the boy returned. Eventually, he apparated back to Hogwarts.

He'd returned to the school to find the headmaster waiting at the front doors, a curious expression on his face. Severus had told him he'd gone into the village for a drink. He didn't think Albus had believed him, but he hadn't pressed the point.

Severus had never told Dumbledore the truth about that first night.

And as he returned on his second visit to Privet Drive, he never intended to share the details of this trip with the headmaster either. Appearing in silence at the end of the drive, Severus looked up at the darkened windows of the house and felt a deep sense of self-loathing. He'd put Potter in this home, through his actions on that fateful evening so many years ago, when a stolen thread of conversation had changed the course of the future for them all. And he'd seen what care Potter had enjoyed here. Perhaps, if he'd said something after that first visit, Dumbledore would have interfered before. Perhaps if he hadn't been so self-indulgent, so blinded by hatred, he would have recognised the early signs.

But it did no good to focus on what might have been. For now, he could repay some measure of the debt he owed.

Severus approached the front door of the little house, black robes billowing behind him. The lock clicked free with his wordless spell, and he pushed his way into the house. The entryway was dark; the moonless night devoid of any light. Severus lit the tip of his drawn wand, and ascended the staircase to the first floor. He felt his way along the wall, listening keenly for the sounds of sleeping occupants. He passed the room that must have been Potter's – the door, as Dumbledore had told Minerva and himself on the night of Harry's arrival, was littered with various locking devices. He gazed in disgust at the wood panels before moving onward.

The second door he came to was closed. An ear against the wood told him someone slept inside. He opened it. In the bed was a massive figure, but it was not his quarry. This, Severus reasoned, must be the blonde child he'd seen ten years ago, now grown into an equally oversized boy of eleven or twelve. Potter's cousin. He backed out of the room again, and shot a muffling charm at the closed door. There was no sense in waking this child when he found his parents. Severus moved on.

Two bedroom doors lay on the other side of the floor. One, he saw, was cracked open, the room beyond unoccupied. Probably for guests. The second was shut, and Severus could hear the unmistakable sound of heavy snoring through the cracks. This must be where Vernon and Petunia lay.

He turned the lock with another nonverbal spell, and banged his way into the room. The two occupants of the bed started awake immediately. Petunia gave a shriek, cowering toward her husband. The man – Vernon – snorted in surprise, fumbling for the bedside lamp. He gave a roar of anger upon seeing Severus silhouetted in the doorframe and made to get out of the bed, bellowing like a wounded bear.

' _Incarcerous_ ,' Severus said lazily, pointing his wand at Vernon Dursley. Ropes and gag sprang into existence, wrapping themselves around the irate Muggle and forcing him to fall back upon the bed, silenced and immobile. Petunia gave another shriek, her hands over her mouth, staring from her husband to Snape in abject terror.

'Good evening, Tuney,' Severus said in a silky, indifferent voice. Petunia's eyes narrowed as she considered him.

'It's you,' she spat at him in horror, recognition dawning in her eyes. 'You! The Snape boy, from down Spinner's End.'

'Indeed,' Severus acknowledged with a bow of his head. 'Although these days I am a professor in residence at Hogwarts, where your nephew Harry Potter attends school. I dare say I spend about as much time back in Cokeworth as you do of late, Tuney.'

He moved farther into the room as he spoke, sending the door shut with a wave of his hand, and casting a silencing spell at it. 'A pity you seem to have left rather less of your childhood tendencies behind you.'

Anger flashed in Petunia Dursley's eyes. 'If you're looking for that boy, you've come to the wrong place, _Snape_. He vanished days ago, while we were out. We've not seen him since.'

'No, Tuney,' Snape continued, taking another step toward her. 'It is not Harry Potter I came to see tonight, but you. You see, I know exactly where your nephew is. And the state in which he arrived there.'

Petunia looked more nervous still, but she continued to press her advantage where she saw it. 'Lily spoke of you, you know,' she said, watching Severus' face closely. 'That last summer, before she went off with that Potter for good. She was crying. She said you'd gone off with that dark one – the one that killed her and her no good husband in the end. That Voldemort.' She smiled vindictively as she caught Severus' involuntary flinch at the sound of the name, clearly feeling she'd wounded his pride. 'Oh yes, Snape. Very torn up about it, Lily was. I'm surprised that mad old fool has let you near the boy, considering what you became. I'd have thought he'd have him wrapped in plastic judging by the way he talked in his letter.'

'Your concern is touching, Tuney,' Snape said sarcastically. 'I'll be sure to pass these worries along, when next I chat with Albus. But you have no idea how correct you are.' He leaned closer still, towering above her on the bed. 'I left to follow the Dark Lord – Lily was right. I learned things about dark magic you could not possibly hope to comprehend. I tortured people. I hurt them. I _killed_ them, Tuney. Men. Women. Children. More than I can even recall.' He watched the colour drain from her face as he spoke. Beside her, Vernon's eyes widened comically as Severus spoke, his face purpling with the effort to speak through the gag. 'But enough about me,' Severus said, straightening up again and twirling his wand through his fingers. 'Your husband struck that boy hard enough to fracture his zygomatic arch. I want to know what else you've done to him, while he was under your… _care_.'

Petunia shot a terrified look at her husband. 'We,' she started, her voice cracking, 'We've done nothing to the boy, Snape. What happened the other night was an accident. Vernon's never hit the freak before.'

Severus gave a humourless laugh. 'Have you forgotten how _I_ grew up, Petunia Evans? I know that was no accident. And even if that was the first time the boy's been physically struck – we both know there are other ways to abuse a child. What else have you hidden away in this foul home?'

Petunia said nothing, but shot Vernon another terrified look. Severus sneered. 'I have other ways of finding out, Tuney. You need not use your… words.' He held up his wand again, drawing closer than ever to the bed. Petunia backed as far away as she could, her fingers scrabbling the headboard.

'Your mind,' Severus said quietly, 'should do just as well. _Legilimens_!'

Several hours later, Snape had left the Dursleys' home, his own mind teeming with the memories he had wrenched from Petunia and Vernon. Like the first time he had returned from such a visit, Dumbledore was waiting up for him. Only this time, he hadn't been standing at the doors.

Severus had stalked down to his dungeon office, slamming the door as he entered. He went immediately to the cabinet where he kept several bottles of drink, selected a fine old scotch, and poured a measure into a crystal tumbler. He knocked it back in one go, and poured a second. He picked up the glass to repeat the gesture, but at the last moment hesitated. He stared instead at the amber liquid, tipping it back and forth in his hand, watching the alcohol cling to the crevices in the cut crystal. In a sudden flare of temper, he hurled the glass hard at the opposite wall. It smashed into a million shards of diamond, raining down upon the office floor.

'I certainly hope you left Harry's aunt and uncle slightly more intact,' came a sombre voice from the corner of the room.

Severus whirled about to see Albus, seated serenely in a corner chair. He examined Severus over his half-moon spectacles, a serious expression on his face. Severus snarled and waved his wand to clear the mess.

'Relax, old man,' he said, digging out two fresh tumblers and pouring a healthy measure of drink for both of them. 'The Muggles have suffered no permanent damage this night.' He handed Albus one of the glasses, and settled into the chair opposite with the other. He took a bracing swallow.

'What did you do, Severus?' Albus pressed, not yet touching his own scotch.

Severus waved a dismissive hand. 'Nothing that you or Minerva would disapprove of, Albus. I merely attempted to … _persuade_ the pair of them to see the error in their ways. I did nothing illegal, and – as I said – caused no permanent damage.' Albus waited, but Severus did not continue. The headmaster sighed, and took a sip of the nightcap.

'If you have not caused damage, Severus, I wonder that you are so enraged upon your return,' he commented lightly, running a finger over the rim of his tumbler.

Severus grimaced, staring into his own tumbler. 'I am merely reminded, headmaster, that I was once a man capable of far worse things. I must admit, I nearly gave in to old tendencies tonight.'

Albus set the glass on the coffee table and leaned forward, resting a hand on Severus's arm. The Potions master nearly shrugged it off; from any but Albus, he would have.

'You have come a long way from the man you once were, Severus,' Albus said, very quietly. 'You are not a Death Eater any longer. And you are not your father. Just as Harry is not his.' Severus gave an involuntary twitch, but said nothing in reply. He drained the glass of amber liquid.

He would never tell the brat that he'd gone. He had omitted the details even to Albus. It was a secret he wanted to take to his grave.

One of many.

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Severus was pulled from the contemplation of his memories as the flames he'd been absently watching flared green. He pushed himself off the sofa and stood, just as Poppy Pomfrey's form came spinning into the room. Severus reached out a hand to help her from the hearth.

'Ah, Severus,' she said in greeting, handing him a case while she brushed her wand across her robes like a hoover, ridding herself of ash from her travels. 'How is Mr Potter?'

'His condition remains unchanged,' Severus answered, passing her back the case as she stowed her wand again. 'I believe the headmaster and Minerva are in the room with him now. Shall I show you the way?'

'If you would,' she replied briskly, taking the handle from him and turning for the stairs. Severus inclined his head and preceded her, guiding the mediwitch up to the landing and down the corridor to Potter's bedroom. The scene that met them remained largely unchanged from Severus's exit a half hour or so before. Albus still sat on the child's bed, holding Harry against his chest. Minerva, seated next to the bed, quickly abandoned her post to make room for the mediwitch.

'Poppy,' the headmaster said in greeting, relief evident in his voice. 'Thank you for coming. I am sorry to have pulled you from your holiday, but it seems Harry has been unresponsive to Severus' treatment thus far. I do not wish to involve St Mungo's unless we have to.'

Poppy waved a hand in dismissal, already striding toward the bed and pulling out her wand. 'Of course, headmaster. It is no trouble at all. Let me see here…' She pushed a hand under Potter's fringe, feeling his temperature. 'Yes, he's quite warm. When did you last check the fever?'

'About thirty minutes ago,' Albus replied at once, 'He was running a temperature of 40.1 degrees. Severus said it has been around that high for the past day or so.'

Poppy looked to him for confirmation, and Severus nodded. 'I ran a diagnostic on him when he first fell ill,' Severus informed her. 'It came up largely nonspecific – inflammation in the throat, ears and sinus, and some congestion in the chest. The chest congestion seems to have grown progressively worse.'

'Hmm,' the mediwitch said, now checking the boy's pulse. 'It sounds like a common Muggle flu, but it should have responded better to the potion regimen. I assume you already gave him Breathe-Ease and an antipyretic, Severus?'

'Yes, Poppy,' Severus replied. 'He has had two variants on the antipyretic, and I have given him anti-inflammatory as well. Nothing seems to have taken effect.'

Poppy nodded, now running her own diagnostic. Albus had manoeuvred himself out of the way, leaving Potter propped against the pillows. The boy hadn't stirred as the mediwitch ran her examination. She peered closely at the results.

'It looks like the infection may have progressed into pneumonia, but we should be able to get it under control,' she said, finishing her scan of the parchment generated by the spell. She turned to Severus again. 'I will need you to brew the juvenile version of the pneumococcal relief potion, Severus. I don't normally keep it in stock. It should work more efficiently than the Breathe-Ease. And I'll start him on the Grade V fever reducer as well. Once the infection is under control, his fever should start to subside. It can be tricky in young wizards, but I'm sure we'll see some improvement if we can start him on the new potions before morning.'

Severus easily gave his consent, and left for the dungeons to brew the required potion.

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As Severus departed, Poppy turned her attention to Albus. 'What concerns me, headmaster, is the rate at which this disease has progressed. Mr Potter should not have become ill so quickly if, as Severus suggested, he only started to become symptomatic yesterday.'

'What are you implying, Poppy?' Albus asked, concerned.

The mediwitch sighed, conjuring a fresh flannel for the child's forehead as she contemplated her answer. 'I think, Albus, that Mr Potter was deliberately exposed to the virus that caused this. The suddenness of the attack on his system, and the difficulty in successfully treating the symptoms, suggests that the contagion was directly introduced into his bloodstream, probably from a cut he received at some point during the day before he fell ill. With the right enchantment, it is possible to speed the effectiveness and onset of a viral contagion – making it work similarly to poisoning.'

Minerva gave a gasp from her position on the opposite side of the bed. 'Are you saying,' she asked in a shaking voice, 'that you believe someone _deliberately_ made Harry ill? While he's been at Hogwarts?'

Poppy looked sharply from Minerva to Albus, giving both an assessing once-over. 'I could not say,' she replied carefully, 'I did not even know the child was here until this evening. I don't know how long he's been at the castle. But if it has been longer than three days… then, yes, I would say Mr Potter was exposed to whatever caused this whilst he's been at Hogwarts.'

Albus exchanged a significant look with Minerva. 'I do apologise, Poppy,' he said to the mediwitch. 'We brought Harry here a little over a week ago. We would have told you soon, in any case, but I'd rather the information were not widely known outside the castle at present.'

Poppy tutted, but seemed to accept the headmaster's explanation. 'And are you intending to keep the child here much longer, headmaster? If not, you ought to inform his family to expect a delay in his return. Even with the new potion, I'd rather he not be moved for several days – at least until he has been fever free for more than 24 hours, and somewhat recovered his strength.'

Albus leaned over the bed again, adjusting the flannel on Harry's forehead. He stroked the child's cheek tenderly – the cheek that had been so badly marred when he'd brought the child home.

'No, Poppy.' He said quietly. 'Harry will not be returning to Surrey this summer. I'll watch over him here.'

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Severus returned with the potion a little over an hour later. Everyone had grown quite exhausted with the emergency of the night, and Severus stayed only long enough to drop the phials with the mediwitch before bidding the headmaster and Minerva good evening. He returned to sleep in his own quarters, now that Albus intended to stay at the castle. Poppy helped Albus and Minerva wake Harry, and remained long enough to ensure that he took the pneumonia potion and the enhanced antipyretic. She had also insisted on a potion for his left ear, which she feared might remain infected if not treated separately. Harry – only partly aware, very delirious, and exceedingly tired – had fussed over that potion particularly, as it had to be administered directly into the ear canal and was highly uncomfortable. Minerva had held him on his side and stroked his hair back, while Poppy used a dropper to pour four drops of the potion into the infected ear. Harry had to remain still for several minutes while the potion took effect – something made more difficult by the fact that the positioning caused a coughing fit. When he could be let up again, Poppy bullied him into taking another dose of dreamless sleep, and tucked him snugly under the covers for the night. She left strict instructions for Albus and Minerva to call for her if he worsened or awakened before daybreak, and set a monitoring charm over the bed.

'I'll stay in my quarters in the Hospital Wing tonight,' she said to the teachers as she gathered her things, 'And remain tomorrow to see him out of the woods. After that, he should be well on the way to recovery. Are you quite certain you would not rather I take him with me for the night?'

'No, we'll be alright here. But thank you again, Poppy,' Albus said, gratefully. 'We could not run this castle without you.'

'Oh, tosh, Albus,' Poppy said with a wave of her hand, but she looked mollified all the same. 'You two ought to get some rest as well, you know. You'll be done in at the morrow and then where will we be?' she admonished, heading for the door. Albus inclined his head in acknowledgement as she bustled from the room.

When she'd gone, he turned to Minerva. She had situated herself in the chair at Harry's bedside again, her feet pulled up onto the seat and her arms wrapped around her knees as she watched him sleep. His breathing had begun to even out now, and he looked far more peaceful. Albus walked over to lay his hand on her shoulder.

'We should turn in, Minnie,' he said softly, 'Harry is stable for the present, and we'll hear if he stirs in the night.'

Minerva shook her head, her eyes still on Harry. 'Not just yet, Albus,' she whispered back. 'I'll stay a few minutes more, I think.' Albus nodded and, with a wave of his wand, expanded Minerva's chair so it became a more comfortable sofa. He seated himself and pulled Minerva close. She turned so that her head rested on his shoulder, her body curved into his side.

'I don't understand how this could have happened,' she said quietly, entwining her hand with his. 'If what Poppy said is true, somehow somebody must have realised Harry's here. And someone has gone out of their way to hurt him. I know the child has many enemies, but I did not realise the situation was truly so dangerous at the moment – not with You-Know-Who still missing and the Death Eaters all imprisoned or in hiding. How could Harry be in such danger?'

Albus sighed. 'I am not sure either, my dear. But I would not mind finding out a bit more about this house-elf that visited Harry at his aunt and uncle's. Harry said he warned him about a great danger at the school this year. I must confess I find myself more anxious than ever, given the events of this week.' He stroked the back of Minerva's hand with his thumb, lost in thought.

'Your concern is the elf, when someone has just nearly killed the Boy Who Lived?'

'I am not convinced that the two events are unrelated,' Albus clarified, his voice dark. 'Harry shall have to be particularly careful from now on. It is clear there are dangers abounding that even I cannot foresee.'

The pair sat in silence for a while then, watching Harry's chest rise and fall. After a time, Minerva fell asleep. Albus knew he should wake her and they should both head to bed, but he couldn't bring himself to move just yet. To his surprise, it was the return of the Potions master to the room that drew him from his musings.

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'I apologise, headmaster,' Severus said, stepping into the room and feeling a bit uncomfortable. 'I realised when I got to my own quarters that I'd left my research notes up here. I just stopped in to retrieve them.' His gaze shifted to the bed for a moment, where Potter lay sleeping. The boy already seemed a bit better – not that he particularly cared.

'Do not concern yourself with waking Harry, Severus,' Albus said kindly, his eyes twinkling a little. 'Poppy administered a dose of dreamless sleep before she left for the night. He should not wake until morning.'

Severus scowled. 'I was not concerned with waking the boy, Albus,' he denied immediately. 'Although the dreamless sleep should hopefully allow you and Minerva some much needed rest. It seems that Potter also suffers from fairly violent dreams.'

Albus nodded sadly. 'I know. He's had quite a few nightmares since arriving here.'

Severus felt instantly annoyed that the headmaster had neglected to share this information before departing for France. 'You did not tell me the nightmares were so significant, Albus,' he noted, in a carefully controlled tone of voice. 'I nearly missed the start of this illness, Potter's reaction to his dream that night was so severe.'

The headmaster looked up, seeming troubled. 'I should have said something sooner,' he agreed. 'I suspect that is how Harry's system became so depleted to begin with. He has not had a decent night's sleep since the end of term.'

Severus did not comment. After a few minutes, he turned to leave. Something made him teeter at the threshold, his hand braced against the doorframe.

'Occlumency,' he said curtly, not turning to look back at the headmaster.

'Pardon?' he heard Albus reply, his tone distracted and puzzled.

Severus sighed. 'You should start instructing the boy in Occlumency, Albus. For the nightmares,' he clarified. 'It should help.'

Without waiting for a response, Severus swept from the room.


	8. The Village

**A/N** : This chapter and the next (chapter 9) were initially one chapter… but I found it was a little _too_ long and very information-heavy. So, I have decided to break it into two parts. Please forgive, therefore, that chapter 9 is a bit shorter than my usual.

A note to all readers – I truly do appreciate _all_ your comments and reviews! It means a lot to me that people are enjoying the story, and that some of you have taken the time to comment! As you know, this is my first fanfiction writing, so it's amazing to see the response and encouragement. Thank you so much for your support! Additionally, I will always try to answer readers' questions or concerns if you leave them in a review.

 **Babascoop** : Thank you for your latest reviews! I'll reply to your query from Chapter 6, although I suspect you've worked much of this out for yourself by now… Yes, Harry's illness was not quite a simple fever. It was deliberately caused (as we found out in the last chapter), although it's not clear as of now who caused it, or why. I don't leave Harry down for long – he's far too much fun when he's up and about. But it was necessary to move the story in the direction I wanted. The pen name, incidentally, is a nod to my fiancé… it is a motto we both love, a portion of a quote from a show I was in during university, and the words he engraved on the inside of my engagement ring. He is truly amazing – how he ever ended up with someone like me is a question for the ages… but I digress.

On that semi-nauseating moment of sentiment, on with the next instalment!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 8: The Village**

Harry spent four days in bed recovering from his illness. In his opinion, the time was exceedingly boring. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were always there when he awoke, feeding him potions, checking his temperature, and encouraging him to eat and sleep. Harry had never experienced this sort of care before – so many people worried about him, and trying to help him feel better. Professor Dumbledore rarely left him alone while he was awake, and sometimes even sat on the bed with him into the night. Professor McGonagall fussed over the state of his pillows, and stroked his hair soothingly to get him to sleep.

Madam Pomfrey stayed for a day or so before departing back to Brighton. She fretted over Harry as she had done at the end of term when he'd been left in her care after retrieving the Philosopher's Stone – unwilling to let him up at all and tutting about his condition in a way that made Harry feel she must think it was all _his_ fault he'd fallen ill.

Harry felt much better since the new potions had started, although he hated having to lie on his side while McGonagall administered the one in his ear twice a day. It was very uncomfortable, and it made him feel like a small child – a feeling reinforced by McGonagall's solicitous murmuring to him while he waited for the time to pass. His fever had finally broken on the morning of the third day after the professors' return, but they insisted on keeping him in bed for one more day and a final few rounds of potion.

Snape came by during his final day of bedrest. Harry was so bored by then, he almost welcomed the sight of someone new – even if that someone was his most detested professor. Snape slunk into the room with his trademark sneer, carrying a roll of parchment and Harry's lunch on a tray.

'The headmaster sends you this,' he said to Harry, pushing the tray of soup, potions and pumpkin juice onto Harry's bedside table, 'And reminds you to take the potion before eating. I'm not sure how he managed to lose track of _every_ house-elf in the castle, but…' he trailed off. Harry's lips twitched, but he bit his tongue. He was fairly certain Snape's sarcasm was not intended as a joke for Harry.

Snape looked down his hooked nose appraisingly at him. Harry felt rather like a horse being sized up to race.

'You are looking much improved,' Snape offered.

'Er – yes, sir,' Harry replied, slightly puzzled. 'Thank you.'

Snape raised an eyebrow, and held up the scroll he still clutched in his hand. 'Your essay, Potter,' he said in explanation, dropping the roll of parchment into Harry's lap. 'Since you are no longer at Death's door, now would be an excellent time to revise it. I've left my comments. Your last attempt was… nearly passable,' he admitted, sounding as though coming so close to complimenting Harry truly pained him.

Harry bent to take the scroll, unfurling it to have a glance at the revisions Snape had made. He looked up to say something further to the Potions master, but he had already swept from the room.

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'Severus!' the headmaster called, stepping through the door and into his study just as Severus was exiting the stairway. He pulled at the travelling cloak around his neck, undoing the fastenings and looking weary from the morning.

'Headmaster,' Severus greeted him with a nod. Albus succeeded in removing the cloak, and folded it over one arm.

'I do apologise for running out on you, my boy. I'm afraid I had to meet with Gilderoy Lockhart. In all the excitement of the past few days, I'd rather forgotten the date.'

Severus clenched his hand reflexively on the back of the chair in front of him. _Gilderoy Lockhart_. Albus's new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. The insipid man had been the only applicant for the post – apart from Severus, of course. Severus had still not forgiven the headmaster for choosing the bumbling idiot over himself to fill the void.

'And how was _Gilderoy_?' Severus asked, deliberately spitting the name.

Albus gave him a complacent smile. 'Very well indeed. A little over-zealous, as always, but he seems enthusiastic about the new position. He wishes to make the announcement sometime next month.'

'How thrilling,' Severus said, sarcastically.

'Severus, you know I have my reasons for keeping things as they are,' said Dumbledore soothingly.

Severus crossed his arms and glared at the headmaster over the back of the sofa. 'Not as such, Albus,' he replied through gritted teeth, 'As you've never seen fit to explain the details of those particular reasons.' Albus sighed as he strode toward the desk, laying his cloak over the back of his chair. He had the air of a man who had held this conversation one too many times before.

'The position carries a curse, Severus,' he explained in an overly-patient tone. 'One cannot hold the post for more than a year.'

'So remove it!' Severus said dismissively. 'You are the greatest sorcerer alive; perhaps the greatest ever.'

'You flatter me. But it is not that simple, Severus,' Albus insisted. 'And I would rather not test the limits of my abilities with your career – or your life.'

Severus ground his teeth, but he could tell from the headmaster's tone that the subject was closed. Dumbledore took his seat, surveying Severus over the tips of his fingers. 'How was Harry this morning?' he asked, changing the subject.

Severus waved a hand impatiently. 'Fine. I brought him lunch as you requested, and gave him his Potions essay to work on.'

Albus's eyes twinkled. 'I am sure he was delighted.'

Severus arched a brow, but did not comment. 'He seems nearly recovered, although perhaps a little tired.'

He hesitated, but decided to press the point. 'Have you thought at all about what I suggested? About instructing the boy in Occlumency?'

Albus inclined his head. 'I have,' he acknowledged. 'And I think the idea holds merit, although he is a little young for such disciplined magic.' His eyes twinkled worse than ever as he considered the Potions master. 'I don't suppose you would consent to –'

'Absolutely _NOT_ , Albus!' Severus cut across him, vehemently. 'The brat and I have managed not to kill each other while under the same roof this summer purely by avoidance and a bit of luck. I do not desire to tempt fate further.'

Albus sighed, but conceded the truth of Severus's tirade with a small nod of his head. 'No,' he said quietly. 'I suppose not, my boy. Not when fate seems to demand so much of our attention as it is.'

Severus swallowed hard at Albus' allusion, and strode away to stare out the window at the grounds.

'Minerva mentioned what Poppy told you both, about the likelihood of deliberate contamination,' he said, trying to draw Dumbledore from his contemplation. 'Have you asked the boy about it?'

'No,' Dumbledore replied, leaning back in his chair. 'I did not wish to compound his recovery by revealing my own fears. But I will speak with him on the subject tomorrow, when he's up and about again. I'll need to talk with him anyway, as I wish to take further steps to ensure his safety, even within the school.' He kneaded the knuckles of one hand over his deeply-lined forehead. Severus was troubled by this rare show of weakness.

'The brat attracts disaster on a daily basis, Albus,' he said softly, in an effort to ease Albus's mind. 'What happened cannot be blamed on any fault of yours.' The headmaster nodded absently, but did not look convinced.

'In any case, he will have to be told,' Albus said, giving a weary sigh. He pushed himself straight again, standing up from the desk. 'I had better go and check on him. Even with his Potions essay to keep him occupied, I'm sure Harry is a little desperate for company.'

Severus rolled his eyes and took this as his cue, heading for the office door. 'I shall be working in the dungeons for the remainder of the day, Albus, if you need me at all.'

'Thank you, Severus.'

Severus nodded his reply, and left the headmaster's study.

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Harry awoke the next morning to the headmaster's hand on his forehead. He opened his eyes into Dumbledore's smiling face.

'No fever,' said Dumbledore in a satisfied tone, removing his hand. 'If you are sure you are feeling well, you may get up and have a shower. I believe Professor McGonagall is expecting us in the Great Hall for breakfast shortly.'

Harry gave a whoop of delight and sprang out of bed, heading for the loo. He heard Dumbledore chuckle as he left the room.

Twenty minutes later, Harry was clean and feeling highly refreshed, dressed in a pair of old jeans and his least-frayed tee-shirt. Dumbledore gave him an appraising look as Harry bounded down the stairs two at a time to meet him in the study.

'I think we ought to do something about your wardrobe, now you are feeling better,' he said as Harry came toward him. Harry looked down self-consciously, noting the baggy, worn-out jeans with a bit of embarrassment.

'It's alright, sir,' he said hurriedly. 'I mostly wear school robes during the year anyway. These don't bother me much.'

Dumbledore gave him his characteristic penetrating look over the top of his spectacles. 'Still, you should have things that fit you properly to wear in the summer and on week-ends,' he insisted. 'I shall speak to Minerva. Perhaps we can all take a trip into Hogsmeade this morning after breakfast.'

'Hogsmeade?' Harry repeated blankly.

'It is the all-wizarding village just down the road from the school gates,' Dumbledore explained. 'You have probably seen it from a distance, as the train station is situated on the edge of town.' Harry nodded. He had heard of the village before – although he hadn't known the name. Some of the older students had been into town on free week-ends.

'There are a number of clothing stores in the village, and several pubs,' Dumbledore continued. 'Perhaps we could pop into Gladrags Wizard Wear, and then take lunch in the village. There is also a rather wonderful sweetshop in town I'm quite partial to.' He winked at Harry, who grinned.

'Sounds great, sir!' Harry readily agreed, excited by the prospect. He loved Hogwarts, but it would be lovely to get out of the castle after so many days confined to his bed, and the village sounded fantastic.

Dumbledore chivvied him out of the study and toward the Great Hall for breakfast. Harry saw, upon pushing open the doors to the Great Hall, that Professors McGonagall and Snape were already seated at the table, engaged in conversation. Not even Snape could dampen Harry's spirits today, however. He ran up to take a seat beside McGonagall, grinning ear to ear.

'Good morning, professors!' he greeted, directing his smile toward McGonagall. She quirked her lips at his enthusiasm, reaching to pile eggs onto his plate.

'It's very good to see you up again, Harry,' she said kindly, turning in her seat to face him more fully as she scooped the scrambled eggs. 'Good morning, Albus,' she added to the headmaster, who was seating himself opposite her, next to Snape.

'Good day, Minerva, Severus,' he said politely as he took his seat. Snape inclined his head toward the headmaster before reaching for a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ , laying the paper open on the table.

'I have been discussing a scheme for the day with Harry,' Dumbledore said to McGonagall. 'I think it is high time we did something about his apparel. I thought perhaps a trip into Hogsmeade this morning, to Gladrags, might be in order. If you are free to accompany us, we could be off after breakfast and take lunch in the village before returning this afternoon.'

Minerva shot a slightly anxious look at Harry. 'Are you sure he's up to it, Albus? He's only just on the mend.' Harry gave her a pleading look, his green eyes wide.

'Oh please, professor?' he beseeched her. 'I feel perfectly fine today. And I've never been into Hogsmeade.'

McGonagall gave him an appraising look, but he could see humour in her gaze. 'Oh, alright then,' she consented, ruffling his hair fondly. 'But I don't want you pushing yourself. If you start to feel worse at all –'

'I'll tell you, right away!' Harry promised, barely able to contain his excitement.

'Humph,' McGonagall said, pouring him a glass of pumpkin juice. Harry saw Snape roll his eyes at the paper.

'Would you care to join us, Severus?' Dumbledore asked politely, turning toward the Potions master. Harry's smile faded a fraction. Snape lifted his gaze from the newspaper, but merely raised an eyebrow at the headmaster.

'No, thank you, headmaster,' he said, to Harry's great relief. 'I think I shall take advantage of the quiet to get some work completed.' The headmaster nodded at Snape, and poured himself some tea. Harry scowled. It wasn't as if he spent any time whatsoever distracting Snape in the dungeons… but still, at least he could look forward to a morning without Snape's derogatory commentary.

Harry finished his breakfast hurriedly, keen to be off, though he was bullied into remaining for second helpings by an insistent Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore sent Mina to collect their summer-weight travelling cloaks while the three finished breakfast, and soon they were off.

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The walk into the village was very pleasant. A light summer's breeze tickled Harry's face as they made their way across the grounds in the sunshine. Harry revelled in the fresh air – he had missed being outside during his illness. Dumbledore allowed him to run a little ahead, although McGonagall put a quick stop to Harry's attempts to rid himself of his travelling cloak, concerned he might become chilled again in the breezy day.

Soon they had walked through the iron gates at the edge of the grounds, and up a little street past the station. As they crested the hill, Harry saw the village spread out beneath him; tiny lopsided houses and buildings all clustered around a high street. Many wizards and witches in bright coloured robes bustled between the shops, and the casual sounds of a busy town blew back to them on the breeze. The general air of Hogsmeade was quaint and provincial, but decidedly magical. Harry thought the village looked like the animated town in _Beauty and the Beast_ – a Muggle film that had come out last year, and which he'd seen parts of in his first week of summer back at the Dursleys. The memory caused him to laugh a little to himself, as the title character had reminded him heavily of his Potions master in personality. The mental juxtaposition made him wonder if there was some naïve 'Beauty' out there who would find such temper and cold-heartedness endearing. He sobered immediately at the image. _Ugh_.

'Are you ready, Harry?' Dumbledore asked, coming up from behind him and gesturing down toward the village. Harry started, pulled from his thoughts, and nodded, giving Dumbledore another grin. Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder and began steering him down toward the high street, McGonagall on his other side.

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Albus could tell the child was fascinated as they made their way through the village. Harry's eyes travelled over the buildings, taking in the many little shops and puzzling over the villagers as they meandered about, doing their shopping and exchanging news. He and Minerva kept up a running commentary for the boy's benefit, pointing out each shop by name and trying to give Harry a bit of the village history. He consented to enter Zonko's – the local joke shop. Harry's green eyes grew huge as he examined biting tea cups, dung bombs, and an assortment of prank wands.

'Sir?' Harry said, turning from a display of hiccupping sweets to look at him. 'Is there a branch of Gringotts here? I've just realised – I don't have much Wizard money on me, since I haven't visited the bank since before the start of school.' He looked a little embarrassed as he spoke, his cheeks reddening.

Albus gave a shake of his head. 'I'm afraid London holds the only Gringotts location in Britain, Harry. The goblins find it is easier to keep their enchantments in place if the bank is limited to one building. But it is no matter. I will supply you with the gold for everything you need or want while you are at Hogwarts.' He reached into his pocket as he finished speaking, and tried to pass Harry a small bag of coins.

Harry backed away, looking sheepish. 'Oh no, professor, I couldn't take that,' he said quickly. Minerva, however, took the bag from Albus and pressed it into Harry's hand with a smile.

'It's alright, Harry,' she said. 'Pick a few things out.' When Harry continued to look embarrassed, she winked and drew herself up to full height, adopting her usual strict tone. 'But if I find any of these products being used in an untoward manner, Mr Potter, I shall have to take house points.' Harry gave her a half-smile, still a bit red, but turned to examine the display again with a word of thanks to them both. Minerva looked satisfied.

After Zonko's, Albus dragged Harry and Minerva into Honeydukes, the sweet shop. He exclaimed excitedly over a new brand of Fizzing Whizbees the shop was offering, pressing eight or nine into Harry's already over-loaded basket. He tore around the store with the air of an excited toddler, pulling boxes of sweets and fudge off various shelves and throwing them into the basket. He deliberately double-stocked, as he could see Minerva rolling her eyes and emptying half his choices as soon as he'd turned to grab the next box.

'You are going to rot his teeth,' she admonished him sharply as he selected a variety of sugar quills.

Albus smiled indulgently at her. 'What good is having a child around if you can't spoil him a little?' he asked, innocently. Minerva gave him a stern look, pulling several of the quills out of his grip and handing them back to the amused-looking shopkeeper.

'At least show a bit restraint, Albus,' she said in exasperation. 'The other customers are starting to stare.' But she allowed him to put the balance of the quills into the basket.

Laden down with several bags from the sweet shop, the trio finally made their way to Gladrags. Albus shrunk their packages and pocketed them, but rescued a little bag of his favourite sherbet lemons to sample while they browsed the clothing. He snuck Harry one with a wink and a finger over his lips, shooting a look at Minerva's back as she spoke with the seamstress.

'Mr Potter,' the matron said, coming over with McGonagall to speak with Harry and Albus. 'A pleasure to meet you, and an honour to have you in the shop.' Albus saw her eyes dart upward toward Harry's famous scar. Harry looked a little uncomfortable, and Albus squeezed his shoulder bracingly. 'Headmaster,' the witch continued, with a bow for Albus, 'A real pleasure to see you as well. Are you shopping for yourself today, or just Mr Potter here?'

Albus returned the bow politely, keeping his hand on Harry's shoulder. 'Just Harry today, thank you, Brunhilda,' he said with a smile. 'We'll be needing several sets of wizards robes for day wear – both with the Hogwarts crest and without, new travelling cloaks – winter and summer weight, a few new pair of jeans and trousers, a selection of Muggle-style shirts, two pair of dragon-hide boots, new trainers, and a plethora of socks, if you would. Oh, and I suppose Harry had better pick out some new vests and pants as well.' Harry reddened deeply at the last, looking at the floor. The seamstress' eyes nearly bugged out of her head as the headmaster finished listing what they wanted, no doubt calculating the cost of such a hefty order.

'R-right away, sir,' she said, recovering herself. 'If you would come this way, Mr Potter,' she added, holding out her arm to direct Harry farther into the shop. Harry sent a semi-terrified look back at Albus, who nodded encouragingly, before allowing himself to be steered toward a rack of cloaks in the back of the room. Albus looked toward Minerva, who was sorting through collared shirts with a dubious expression on her face, then wandered over toward several large bins of socks. He had some fun selecting several pair for Harry while the seamstress bullied the child into trying on nearly every set of robes and cloak in the place, looking up from his task only to offer his approval or shake his head as Harry was pushed out of the curtained dressing room to model the different styles.

Two hours later, and with a child who looked like he'd been forced to pickle rat brains all morning, Albus felt they had made quite a success of their trip to the clothing store. He helped Harry haul the many piles of new clothes up to the counter, and firmly shot down the boy's attempts to forestall his payment. The purchases were boxed up and packaged in due course, and Albus shrunk them all again to fit in his pocket. Harry could not stop stammering his embarrassed thanks as Minerva pulled him from the shop, following Albus out onto the pavement again.

'Really, child, it was no trouble at all,' Albus insisted, twinkling down at Harry. 'It was high time you had some new things of your own.' Harry blushed deeply and thanked him again. Albus waved him off. 'Let's find somewhere for lunch. All that shopping has left me ravenous, and it's nearly one. What say you to The Three Broomsticks, Minerva?'

Minerva gave him a sideways glance. 'Would you not rather stop by The Hog's Head, Albus?' she asked innocently. Something flashed momentarily behind Albus's eyes. He looked toward Harry again, who was watching the exchange with mingled curiosity and confusion.

'I think The Three Broomsticks will be a more… welcoming atmosphere today,' he said, carefully. 'Rosmerta's menu is a bit more suited to children at any rate.' Minerva nodded her assent, though she looked troubled, and Albus guided them toward the friendly-looking pub at the centre of the street.

He pushed open the door to The Three Broomsticks, setting the little bell tinkling. The pub was crowded for the lunch hour, the bar stools and tables in the front room overflowing with locals and witches and wizards from other parts of the country, in town for the shopping or the novelty. Hogsmeade was one of the few all-wizard areas in Britain – the only all-wizard town – and as such it often attracted a slew of tourists, especially in the summer when the weather was fine. A fair few heads turned in their direction, and Albus saw excited gossip break out among various groups of pub-goers as they pointed in Harry's direction. He could feel the boy shy back slightly at his side, and saw Minerva bend over to whisper in his ear. Harry smiled and took the hand she offered him, keeping close to her side as they stepped a bit farther into the bar. Albus allowed his magic to expand a little from him, giving a subtle hint to the interested wizard crowd to avoid creating a scene.

'Good afternoon, Rosmerta!' he greeted with a smile, as the barmaid shuffled toward them on towering pink heels. He bent forward slightly to kiss her cheek, sending her into giggles.

'Ta, Headmaster,' she said in reply, slapping him playfully on the arm. 'Table for three today, is it?' she asked politely, smiling over at Minerva and Harry.

'Indeed,' Albus agreed, twinkling at her. 'And somewhere in the back, if possible. I'm not sure Harry is up to the main room today.' The barmaid nodded her understanding, and grabbed three menus off a stack at the end of the bar.

'Right this way then, Albus,' she said, directing them expertly through the staring crowd. Albus followed her, Minerva behind him and Harry pressed between them as they formed a single line to squeeze through the crowded pub. Rosmerta brought them to a round corner table against the back windows, and set the menus in the middle.

'I'll be back in a few minutes to take your order. Would you like something to drink to start?'

'Two gilly waters, I think,' Albus said as he ushered Harry into the booth, looking at Minerva to ensure he'd guessed correctly and helping her out of her travelling cloak. 'And a butterbeer for Harry.' Rosmerta nodded again and tottered away for the drinks. Albus settled himself on one side of Harry, while Minerva slid into the rounded booth from the other side. He passed out the menus.

'I'm quite partial to Rosmerta's shepherd's pie, myself,' he said to Harry, watching the boy study the menu, 'But feel free to order whatever you like.'

Rosmerta returned a few minutes later with the drinks, and Albus passed her back the menus. 'What can I get you?' she asked, pulling a quill from behind her ear and resting a battered pad of paper on the pile of menus.

'I'll try the shepherd's pie,' said Harry, glancing up at Albus with a smile. Albus winked back at him.

'For me as well, thank you, Rosmerta,' he concurred.

'And I'll have the Croque Madame, sauce on the side,' Minerva added, stirring the cocktail straw in her drink. Rosmerta nodded and gave Harry a little wave, then bustled away again. Albus saw Harry take the flagon of butterbeer in both hands and pull it toward himself, looking curiously at the foaming drink.

'Butterbeer is very mild,' he said, thinking Harry might be wondering if the beverage was alcoholic, 'and permissible for underage wizards,' he added with a smile. 'I should probably have asked you what you wanted first, but I thought you should try it. It really is divine, and Rosmerta is famous for her brew. It's a favourite of many older Hogwarts students who come into the village.'

Harry smiled back at him, and took a tentative sip of the drink. His face broke out in a true grin. 'It's delicious, sir!' he said happily, taking a more substantial pull. Albus exchanged an amused look with Minerva as Harry emerged from his tankard with a bit of a foam moustache.

'Have you enjoyed your first trip to town, Harry?' he asked. Harry nodded enthusiastically.

'It's been wonderful!' he said. 'Thank you so much for bringing me, professors.'

'Of course, Harry,' said Minerva, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. Harry blushed at the contact. Albus looked between the two, savouring the simple moment. But he reminded himself that he'd resolved to talk with Harry today about the events that had led to his illness, and immediately sobered again.

'Harry,' he said, leaning his elbows on the table and looking seriously down at the child. 'Professor McGonagall and I need to talk with you about what made you ill last week.'

Harry frowned at him, setting down his tankard of butterbeer. 'I thought I'd caught a virus, Professor?'

Albus nodded. 'You did. But it seems you may not have caught it naturally, my child.' He saw Harry's face begin to whiten a little in fright.

'What – what do you mean?' He asked nervously. Minerva rubbed his arm in a soothing manner, but Harry kept his wide-eyed gaze on Albus.

The old wizard sighed. 'It is not entirely clear. But it is possible that someone deliberately exposed you to an altered version of that particular virus. It would explain why you became ill so quickly, and why the symptoms were difficult to treat.'

Harry looked confused. 'But how could they have got to me, sir? I haven't seen anyone outside of Hogwarts since you brought me here, and I ate the same food as all of you and everything… unless you think it happened while I was at my aunt and uncle's?'

Albus shook his head. 'It's much more likely that you were exposed at Hogwarts, Harry, given the timing of the illness. But I do not think it came from anything you might have eaten. I need you to think back to what you were doing the day before you first felt ill. It's most likely that you cut yourself somehow, exposing the toxins to your bloodstream. Do you remember touching anything odd? Perhaps cutting yourself on a sharp edge of glass, or pricking your finger on a plant, or even scraping your knees on a rock? It may be something that seemed very innocent at the time.'

Harry screwed up his face in thought for a moment before replying. 'No, professor. I can't think of any time I got hurt since I got to Hogwarts, actually.' he said, shaking his head. But then he paused, looking thoughtful. 'Wait…' Albus and Minerva exchanged a look, leaning forward toward Harry.

'I was at the lake with Hagrid the day before it started, in the late afternoon,' he said, his face still distorted as he tried to remember the details. 'We were skipping rocks, because the Giant Squid will sometimes skip them back, if he's bored. I remember picking up an odd white stone. It was lying right at my feet when I went to get another. It was big and very flat, so I took it up to skip it. I remember the edge sort of caught in my hand.'

He shook his sleeve back from his wrist. Sure enough, there was a faint red line near the base of his palm – an almost-healed cut.

'It wasn't deep and it barely bled at all – I didn't even think much about it. Hagrid gave me a handkerchief to press on it for a moment, and by the time we went into dinner it had stopped entirely.' He looked up at the pair of them, seeming frightened. 'You think that's how whoever wanted to make me ill… er, put the germs in me?'

Albus exchanged another look with Minerva. 'It is impossible to know for certain, now that the virus has dissipated,' he said carefully, 'But I think it entirely possible. You did not see anyone nearby, other than Hagrid?'

Harry shook his head. 'No, sir. Even Hagrid wasn't that close to me – he was a little way down the shore. I didn't see anyone else at all.'

Albus nodded, deep in thought. He didn't suspect Hagrid, of course. Hagrid would skip _himself_ into the lake before he harmed a hair on Harry's head. But he was certain this was how Harry had been attacked – the timing was perfect, and Harry's injury seemed to fit with Madam Pomfrey's suspicions.

'But who would want to do something like that?' Harry said in a small voice. He kicked his feet nervously against the edge of the booth. Albus noticed, with affection, that his legs were still too short to reach the floor from his seat.

Minerva answered this time. 'We don't know, Harry,' she said, trying to sound soothing. 'But we'll find out. It's only a theory anyway – there's no way to know for certain at this point.'

'But you _think_ that's what happened, don't you?' Harry pressed, looking up at Albus.

He nodded, slowly. 'I do, Harry, which is why I want you to be extra careful from now on. I do not want you out in the grounds alone. If you want to go out and Minerva or I can't be there with you, I want you to stay with Hagrid or take Mina outside with you. I'm going to place extra wards on the castle too, and I want you to tell me right away if you see anything odd, if you are not feeling well, or if you get hurt – even if it doesn't seem important at the time, alright?' Harry nodded fearfully. Albus reached out and patted his arm.

'Don't worry, child. I do not think something like this will happen again. But it's always better to be prepared.'

Harry gave him a small smile, but looked slightly appeased. At that moment, Rosmerta arrived with the food. Everyone brightened at the delicious looking meal and tucked in gratefully, hungry from their busy morning of shop hopping.

Harry looked up from his shepherd's pie partway through. 'Sir,' he said, his eyes troubled again, 'You don't think… I mean, this wasn't… it's not _Voldemort_ , is it?'

Albus could read the anxiety in the child's face. Minerva, who'd flinched a little at Harry's use of the name, set down her fork and gazed between them, her own eyes wary. Albus considered for a moment. He didn't want to frighten Harry further, but he didn't want to lie either.

'No, Harry,' he said at last, 'I do not think Voldemort tried to hurt you this time. Voldemort is very weak at the moment, after what happened in June. Without Quirrell, he does not have a corporeal form, so it would be difficult for him to act in such a manner. I believe he has fled the country.' He saw the relief spread over Harry's face. 'However,' he continued, 'There are wizards in our world who are also dark and dangerous, other than Voldemort. Many of those wizards lost their leader when you defeated Voldemort as a baby, and some of them may want to hurt you because of it. That is I want you to be always on your guard, and not take any unnecessary risks. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded, his young face quite serious. Albus smiled. 'Now, why don't you finish that delicious pie? I'm sure Rosmerta has some excellent pudding choices for afters if you finish your lunch.'

Albus flagged down Rosmerta as she passed them, and ordered two helpings of treacle tart, which he knew was Harry's favourite (Minerva, predictably, begged off pudding). Harry didn't say much for the rest of the meal. Though he thanked Albus for the tart, he picked at it rather unenthusiastically, his head resting on his hand and his eyes a bit heavy.

Minerva looked increasingly worried at Harry's silence and the set of his chin in his hand. When Rosmerta had cleared the plates and brought Albus the bill, she pushed the child's fringe back and felt his forehead.

'I think he feels a little warm again, Albus,' she said, looking anxious. 'Perhaps we've pushed things a bit too far too soon.' Harry shrugged away from her hand, sitting back from the table.

'I'm fine,' he insisted quickly as Albus looked him over critically, noting the touch of high colour on his cheeks. 'Just a bit tired.'

Paying no mind to the child's words, Albus pressed the back of his own hand to Harry's brow. He did feel a touch unnaturally warm, but not so overtly feverish that Albus was too concerned. It might just be the heat of the butterbeer and the afternoon exertion.

'It's been a long day,' he said, with a reassuring smile for them both, 'And Harry is only just back on his feet. I think we ought to get back up to the castle. Harry can have a bit of a lie-down and maybe a spot of potion this afternoon before dinner.'

Harry looked mutinous at that, but Albus could tell he was tired enough to obey. The three of them stood up from the table, and Minerva fussily wrapped Harry in his travelling cloak, insisting on doing the fastenings up to his chin. Harry looked grumpy, but allowed her mollycoddling with an air of childish resignation that made Albus's eyes twinkle. When Harry was sufficiently bundled up, Albus led them toward the door, tipping his hat to Rosmerta. She gave a cheery wave of farewell with the cloth she was using to polish the glasses behind her bar as the three of them left the pub.

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The walk back to the castle was quieter than their trip into the village had been. Harry was much more reserved, thinking over everything that Dumbledore had told him at lunch and wondering what it all meant. Who would deliberately try and hurt him? How could they get to him at Hogwarts? Could this be the start of the danger that Dobby had tried to warn him against? Harry's immediate fears were still of Lord Voldemort, but the headmaster had seemed convinced that the dark wizard was not a threat to Harry at present. Harry couldn't think who else would stand a chance of getting to him though, not while he was at the school and under Dumbledore's protection. _Dumbledore wasn't there the whole time though_ , a little voice in his head reminded him. _He left you with Snape, remember_?

Harry tried to tamp down the voice immediately. He didn't like Professor Snape – or trust him, really – but he'd spent all of the last term convinced Snape was after him, only to be proven entirely wrong in that final chamber where he'd fought Voldemort for the stone. Dumbledore trusted Snape completely. He'd told Harry so, multiple times. And Snape _had_ saved his life last year, when Quirrell had tried to curse him off his broomstick. He'd also sent for Dumbledore last week, when Harry had been so ill. And he'd sat up with him, and made him potions, and tried to calm him when he'd been feverish and panicky. Somehow, Harry doubted he'd have been working so hard to help him if he was responsible for Harry's illness in the first place. _Perhaps he's just a very good actor_ , said the nasty little voice again, refusing to be silenced. _Perhaps he just wanted Dumbledore to_ think _he tried to save you_.

'No,' Harry said aloud. It couldn't be true.

Professor Dumbledore looked round as Harry spoke, seeming concerned. 'Are you feeling alright, Harry?' he asked, resting a hand on the back of his neck in what Harry was sure was a subtle attempt to feel his temperature again.

'I'm fine, sir,' he said, looking up at Dumbledore and giving him a small smile. McGonagall fussed with the shoulders of his cloak again, giving Dumbledore a reproving look. Harry could tell she didn't think they should have left the castle today. 'Really,' he insisted, looking between them. 'I'm just thinking about everything.'

Dumbledore nodded and steered him forward again, through the gates into the grounds and toward the castle. 'Try not to dwell on it, Harry,' he said in a soothing voice. 'We'll take our precautions, and I'm sure the rest of the summer will go smoothly.'

'Yes, sir,' Harry replied, trying to inject some confidence he did not feel into the words.

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When they reached the castle, McGonagall ushered Harry quickly up to the headmaster's quarters and into his room. She insisted he climb into bed, felt his forehead again, and told him to stay put as she hurried from the room. To his consternation, she re-entered with the thermometer in hand.

'Honestly, professor, I really do feel fine,' Harry insisted, although he knew it was a futile effort. It _was_ true, though. He was a little tired, maybe, and worried about people that might be after him… but he didn't feel ill or in pain at all.

McGonagall scoffed, shaking down the thermometer. ' _I'll_ feel better if we check. You still seem fairly warm to me.' She handed him the instrument, and Harry put it resignedly under his tongue. McGonagall pulled the covers up over his chest, smoothing them unnecessarily. Dumbledore came into the bedchamber as McGonagall checked the thermometer. She raised her brow at the reading, handing the glass stick to Dumbledore. He sighed.

'What?' Harry said, irritably. 'What does it say?'

'38.0,' McGonagall answered, with exasperation. 'I _told_ you it was too soon for him to go gallivanting about the village, Albus! He'll have a relapse if we're not careful.'

Harry sighed, flopping back on the pillows. 'That's hardly more than normal,' he complained. 'I shouldn't have to stay in bed.' McGonagall paid him no mind.

'Are you sure you don't feel any pain? Your ear doesn't hurt? Or your head? Your chest isn't painful at all?'

Harry rolled his eyes. ' _No_ ,' he insisted. 'Ma'am,' he added, trying to sound a bit more polite. 'Truly, I feel completely ok.' McGonagall still looked dubious as she scrutinised him.

'I'll bring up a fever reducer,' she said decisively, striding from the room again. Harry looked pleadingly at Dumbledore to spring him. He came to sit at Harry's bedside, his eyes twinkling a bit.

'Please, headmaster,' Harry needled. 'I feel _fine_ – honestly.'

Dumbledore smiled at him, but shook his head. 'I value my life too much to contradict Minerva when she gets like this,' he said, giving Harry a wink. 'And in any case, she is probably right. The excitement of the day may have been a little much for you.' Harry groaned and laid back, defeated. Dumbledore patted his arm in sympathy. 'Just take the potion and rest up for a bit, Harry,' he said, soothingly. 'I'm sure by dinner you'll be feeling much more yourself.'

Harry grumbled, but recognised defeat. McGonagall returned a few minutes later with the fever reducing potion in hand. She measured out a dose into a goblet. Harry pulled a face at the disgusting but familiar taste, and Dumbledore handed him a glass of water to wash it down. He felt his eyes begin to droop almost immediately.

'You laced it!' Harry accused, trying to glare at McGonagall. It was very difficult, as her form was already swimming into blackness before his eyes. She reached forward and removed the glasses from his face.

'You needed to rest,' she said, superbly unrepentant. She carded her hand through his hair as Harry fell asleep.


	9. The Seer

**A/N** : As a reminder, chapter 9 was originally part of the original chapter 8… which grew out of control and had to be severed. That is why it is shorter than most of the other chapters have been. Chapter 10 should return to my usual length. Thanks!

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 9: The Seer**

Harry awoke several hours later in semi-darkness, the sun just finishing its descent through the windows. He felt refreshed and energised, despite his protests to McGonagall that afternoon. Unwilling to remain in bed any longer, Harry quickly pushed the covers aside and hopped out of the four-poster. Someone had changed him into pyjamas while he slept. He went to the wardrobe to get dressed, and saw that Dumbledore or McGonagall must have switched out his clothes while he was sleeping as well. All his old, worn-out things from the Dursleys had been removed, and the new purchases from that morning had been laid neatly on hangers and on the little shelves of the wardrobe. Harry selected new trousers and a blue button-down shirt, pulling his new trainers on as well. It was wonderful to have clothes that fit. Feeling happy in spite of his earlier annoyance, Harry bounded from the room and down the stairs.

Dumbledore and McGonagall were seated together in the study, very close – in Harry's opinion. McGonagall was pressed up against Dumbledore's side, and their hands were entwined in his lap. Harry pulled himself up short at the foot of the stairs, a bit surprised at the scene. The adults had clearly heard him. McGonagall immediately pushed herself a bit farther from the headmaster, releasing his hand and smoothing the skirt of her robes, a touch pink in the face. Dumbledore, completely unperturbed, smiled at Harry and motioned him closer. Harry approached slowly, looking between the two curiously.

'You're looking very smart, Harry,' Dumbledore said approvingly, gesturing to Harry's new clothes.

Harry blushed a bit. 'Thank you, sir.'

'And how are you feeling?' McGonagall asked shrewdly, pulling him a little closer so she could feel his forehead again.

'Fine,' Harry said, though he allowed her examination. 'Just like I felt fine _before_ you drugged me to sleep,' he added a bit grumpily.

McGonagall gave him a stern look. 'Do not get cheeky with me,' she admonished, though the corners of her mouth twitched. ' _Unlike_ before you slept, you no longer feel feverish,' she said in satisfaction. 'So, if you'd like to have dinner in the Great Hall, we can all go down together.'

Harry readily agreed, astounded to find he was quite hungry again. When they entered the Great Hall, Harry got a surprise.

Both Snape and Hagrid were in attendance for dinner tonight, Hagrid sipping at a huge tankard of what Harry thought might be mead, and Snape fingering a long-stemmed glass of deep burgundy wine. Seated across from Snape was a tall, thin woman Harry had never met. She looked, in Harry's opinion, like some sort of giant dragonfly. Her eyes were magnified hugely by thick spectacles, her wildly frizzy hair barely contained by a thick bohemian hairband. She wore robes of varying jewel tones, and her wrists and neck were both draped in so many bangles and beads that she seemed to glitter even from across the room. She reminded Harry a bit of the gypsy women he'd seen on Muggle television – the sort who read palms and tarot cards in dingy little shops. She turned at their entrance and stood solemnly to greet them.

'Good evening, headmaster,' she said in an ethereal voice, 'And Minerva as well – how charming.'

'Ah Sybill, what a welcome surprise,' said Dumbledore, taking her hand and giving it a small kiss, his eyes twinkling madly. 'I didn't expect to see you out of the tower tonight.'

Harry rather thought Dumbledore might be taking the mickey a bit. Next to him, McGonagall looked like she'd swallowed a lemon, her lips were pursed so hard. Harry could tell McGonagall was not Sybill's biggest fan.

'And – my word – this cannot be… Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived?' the woman asked, pointing a finger dramatically at Harry, her eyes filling with tears as she searched his forehead for the familiar scar. Behind her, Harry could see Snape was sneering. 'So dark… so tragic… and yet so young,' she said, looking morosely at Harry. 'I see such a difficult future for you, dear boy. So many trials you will face.'

'Er – pleased to meet you as well, ma'am,' said Harry awkwardly.

The twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes redoubled, and McGonagall gave a most un-ladylike snort. Even Snape seemed to be hiding a smile. The bead-covered woman did not appear to notice, continuing her stare at Harry. He felt a little uncomfortable. Dumbledore stepped in to make the introductions.

'Sybill, as you have correctly surmised, this is Harry Potter. He will be staying with us for the remainder of the summer holiday. Harry, this is Professor Sybill Trelawney, our Divination teacher.' Professor Trelawney stuck out her hand formally, and Harry took it, shaking it briefly. So _this_ was the elusive Divination professor.

Dumbledore ushered them into their places, pouring wine for Professors Trelawney and McGonagall and filling his own goblet. Harry served himself some pumpkin juice and began to load his plate from the various dishes of food, catching up with Hagrid and telling him all about the trip to the village that morning. He was just helping himself to seconds from the bowl of roast potatoes when Professor Trelawney leaned across the table to engage him in conversation.

'I hope I will be seeing you in my lessons this term,' the professor said, gazing earnestly at Harry through her oddly magnified eyes.

'Harry is only entering second year, Sybill,' McGonagall answered for him before he could reply. Harry had the distinct impression that she did not want Trelawney speaking to him for some reason. Still, he felt awkward not responding.

'Perhaps when we select our electives for third year, ma'am,' he offered, trying to be polite.

Professor Trelawney nodded gravely. Harry wasn't sure she'd blinked once since she'd focused her gaze on him. 'Ah, yes,' she said in her mystic voice. 'You must study Divination, child. For you, above all others, the subject is of the greatest importance.'

Harry frowned at her. 'Why me, particularly, professor?'

Trelawney gave him a tragic look, her eyes filling with tears again. 'There is much darkness in your future, my dear boy. But the study of Divination will help you confront these dark portents, and prepare yourself for your fate,' she answered mysteriously.

Harry felt unnerved. He opened his mouth to ask a follow-up question, but Professor Trelawney had turned her attention to pour herself another goblet of wine. As he leaned forward toward her, his arm was tugged once, hard, from the side. He turned, expecting to see McGonagall or Dumbledore at his sleeve. To his complete shock, it was Snape. He leaned in to speak to Harry.

'Do not indulge her,' he said, sharply. Harry stared at him, thoroughly nonplussed. Snape rolled his eyes but continued in an undertone, 'Sybill Trelawney predicts nothing but misery for all those she meets. It's best to let it lie. She is not often out of her tower.' Harry continued to frown in confusion, but Snape said nothing further, turning back to his own plate. From the opposite side of the table, he saw Dumbledore give Severus a curiously concerned look. He couldn't understand it.

When the dinner finally broke up, Harry thought it had to be one of the oddest two-hour periods of his time at Hogwarts.

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Albus walked with Harry and Minerva back to his study after dinner, wondering at the oddities of the evening. Seeing Professor Trelawney had been interesting; she rarely graced the other professors with her presence at mealtimes, or indeed left her tower at all, except to make the occasional trip into the village. Harry had been intrigued by her, Albus could tell, if a little puzzled by her general demeanour. Minerva was impatient. And Severus – as he was wont to do in Sybill's presence – had been unusually withdrawn and taciturn.

As they entered the office, Albus suggested they all have a cup of tea before bed. He could see that Harry was a bit wound-up, given that he'd slept for several hours in the middle of the afternoon. Harry and Minerva both readily agreed, and Albus conjured a tray of his favourite brew, playing mother and handing out cups.

'Professor Dumbledore,' Harry ventured, when they were all seated with their tea, 'Is what Professor Trelawney does – the fortune telling thing – is that real?'

Dumbledore nodded immediately. 'Yes. Divination is a true branch of magic.' Minerva scoffed beside him. He shot her an admonitory look.

'What is it?' Harry asked, turning toward Minerva at the sound of disapproval.

Minerva stirred her tea for a moment, considering. 'The headmaster is correct, Harry,' she started, 'Divination _is_ a true branch of magic. But the subject is very imprecise, as we told you the other day. And true seers are incredibly rare – almost unheard of in this day and age. Sybill Trelawney…'

She trailed off delicately, but her implication was plain. Harry stared.

'But, professor, if she isn't a real seer, then why does she teach at Hogwarts?'

Dumbledore sent Minerva another stern look. He really would prefer _not_ to have this conversation, and particularly not with Harry. He sighed, setting his cup aside.

'Harry, how much do you know about seers and prophesy?'

Harry thought for a moment before answering. 'Not that much, sir,' he acknowledged truthfully. 'Prophecies came up a few times in some of the Muggle reading we did at school before I came to Hogwarts, but I don't know how much of that is true in the wizarding world.'

Albus nodded, thinking carefully. 'Did you read anything in Greek mythology at all?' he asked the child.

'A little bit,' Harry answered uncertainly. 'I'm not sure how much I remember though, sir.'

Albus smiled at him. 'In the works of Ancient Greece, seers are usually given their gifts by the gods. The ability to see the future is a divine intervention – a holy gift – but it often comes at a price. Many of the Greek seers who can prophesise are blind in the earthly realm, for instance. Others, like the famous seer Cassandra, speak only true prophecies but are doomed to constant disbelief – those who hear her predictions, even that of her own death, never believe her until it is far too late.' Harry looked fascinated, and Dumbledore continued. 'It is, as Professor McGonagall has said, a very imprecise and poorly understood branch of magic. But that does not mean that Divination is any less real than the other fields of study here. True seers _are_ very rare, but oftentimes seers are also misunderstood, or sometimes even unknowing of their own gifts.'

Harry looked solemnly back at him. 'But if it's so hard to tell if the predictions are real, then how do you ever know what to do about them?' Harry asked innocently.

Dumbledore thought carefully again before he answered. 'That is a difficult question, Harry,' he allowed at last. 'Did you read the story of Oedipus the King in primary school?' Harry shook his head. 'Or perhaps the Shakespeare play _Macbeth_?' Albus tried again.

Harry looked a little brighter at that. 'I think we did read that one, sir,' he said with a smile. 'That's the one with the witches in the beginning, right? He meets them on the road and they tell him that he will be king?'

Albus nodded. 'Yes, indeed,' he acknowledged with a smile. 'Macbeth is a Scottish lord who hears a prophecy that foretells he will be king of Scotland. He gives in to his own ambition and, thinking he is fulfilling the terms of the prophecy, slaughters the king and takes the crown. As the play progresses, he descends farther into madness and is forced to kill many people in his quest to maintain the prophesised power. And in the end, he learns too late that he has misinterpreted the seers' words, which leads to his own death. Oedipus, on the other hand, is a Greek tragedy that follows a young prince who learns from a seer that he is destined to kill his own father and wed his own mother. Oedipus flees from his home in Corinth toward the kingdom of Thebes, terrified of fulfilling the prophecy if he stays. Along the way, he kills an older man with whom he has a quarrel on the road. In Thebes, Oedipus frees the kingdom from the snares of a Sphinx by solving her riddle, and is rewarded with the hand of the widowed queen. Only after fathering four children with this queen does he learn that the woman is his biological mother, and that the man he killed on the road to Thebes was his biological father – thereby unknowingly fulfilling the prophecy. Oedipus's own tragedy, meanwhile, occurs in part because his true father, King Laius, first hears a prophecy just after his son is born that tells him he is destined to be killed by his child. He tells his wife to kill the baby. She gives the child to a servant, who leaves the baby on a mountainside, where he is rescued by a man from Corinth and eventually adopted by the Corinthian royal family, who are naturally barren.'

Albus looked at Harry as he finished relating the tales. The child still looked highly intrigued, but now thoroughly confused as well. 'Can you think, Harry,' he asked him gently, 'What these two stories of prophecy can teach us?'

Harry screwed up his face in thought. 'That…' he said slowly, trying to find the right words, 'that the future is complicated? That prophecies can be true but following them is hard?'

Albus smiled at him. 'Yes… and no,' he said carefully. 'The future _is_ complicated, that is true. And we cannot escape fate. But _what_ fate _is_ can be incredibly complex and immensely difficult to understand, and it is hardly ever exactly what we think it is. That is why divining the future is such an imprecise brand of magic. We all of us make choices in our lives. These choices decide _how_ we will live. But making our choices based on a preconceived notion of our destinies – whether in an attempt to make it come true or an attempt to avoid it – is a very dangerous and often unhelpful path. We cannot avoid what will be, but we cannot force what will not. The best thing we can do, therefore, is live, and love. It is our _choices_ , Harry, that define us.'

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Several hours later, with Harry asleep in bed, Albus summoned Mina to keep an ear out for the child and decided to take a walk with Minerva. The two headed up to the Astronomy Tower, both deep in contemplation of the day. He could tell Minerva was teetering on the edge of a lecture – she'd been worrying her lip since they left his quarters. Unable to take the anticipation much longer, Albus ran a hand along the rail that edged the ramparts and broke the silence.

'What is it, Minerva? You have been longing to say something for hours.'

Minerva pursed her lips, coming to join him at the edge and looking out into the darkness. 'I dislike,' she said finally, 'that you've filled Harry's head with all this nonsense about prophecies and fortune-telling tonight. You ought to have left well enough alone. Sybill Trelawney is an absolute fraud – as you very well know. It amazes me that you still allow her to teach the students, and I'll not have you encouraging Harry where she's concerned. For goodness sake, Albus, even Severus tried to put a stop to it at dinner!' She finished her rant, her hair coming down out of its bun a bit as her temper flared. Albus waited a moment for the steam to subside, then sighed as he stared out over the silent grounds.

'She is not a fraud, Minerva,' he said, very quietly.

'Oh, Albus!' Minerva moaned in exasperation, seeming to think he was joking.

'She is not a fraud,' he repeated, turning to look at her. 'Although she does not truly realise the potency of her own gifts.'

Minerva stilled upon seeing the seriousness of his expression, waiting in silence for him to continue. Albus looked away again, watching a couple of owls wing their way over the dark forest trees, no doubt heading out for a midnight hunt. He wavered for a long moment, unsure if he should share this secret he'd keep so well hidden, for so many years. But Minerva deserved to know. And what if something happened to him, and there was no one to tell Harry? Resigned, he spoke to the darkness, his voice low and grave.

'Twelve and a half years ago, over the Christmas holiday, I met with an applicant for the Divination post in an upstairs room at the Hog's Head Inn,' he began. Minerva was still and silent beside him. Her eyes never left his face, though he kept his gaze resolutely on the dark lake in the distance. 'I was not particularly keen on the subject in general, but the applicant was descended from a highly gifted, highly celebrated seer, and I felt curtesy dictated that I should at least sit down with her. I met with her in her rooms and conducted a basic interview. She did not impress me. I felt her branch of Divination was really nothing more than an ethereal air and some lucky guesswork – pageantry, but without any underlying skill. I was disappointed, and told her that I did not think the arrangement would work. I turned to leave the room,' he sighed heavily, on the precipice of revealing the most closely-guarded of his many secrets. He forced himself to continue, before he lost his nerve.

'As I reached the door, I heard a different sort of voice from the woman behind me – a harsh, deep tone very unlike her former speech. I turned, surprised, and found her standing in the centre of the room, her eyes shining with intensity but unfocused on myself or the room around us – in the true trance of a seer.' He stopped speaking again for a moment, fingering the rail. Minerva prompted him in a whisper.

'What did she say, Albus?'

He took a deep breath. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his Equal. But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies."'

He turned, in time to watch the blood drain from Minerva's face. She clutched at his arm in shock, and he covered her hand with his.

'She does not know – Sybill. I have never told her what she said to me that night. I may not have acted at all, if it weren't for the eavesdropper.'

'You were overheard, Albus?' Minerva asked in a hoarse whisper. 'By whom?'

Albus shook his head – he would not answer that question. That part of this story was not his to tell. So he evaded it. 'Aberforth intercepted an eavesdropper on the stairs. I was not even aware that we had been followed until after the prophecy had been completed. Of course, I could not have imagined I would have any conversation worth overhearing during such an innocuous meeting. The listener heard only the first portion of Sybill's prediction, but he carried the information back to Lord Voldemort, on whose orders he had come to the inn that night.'

Minerva gasped, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. She pulled it away slowly. 'The child – born at the end of July – this… this prophecy was about _Harry_?' she asked, terror in her eyes.

Albus sighed, turning away from her to face the grounds again. 'When it was made? Perhaps, perhaps not. Harry was not the only magical child to be born at the end of July that year. He was not even the only child to be born to parents who had defied Voldemort three times. There were… other possibilities.' He did not list them out for Minerva – but she had access to the magical records that Hogwarts kept for each year; she could work it out later for herself, if she wanted to.

'So this may not be about Harry then,' she said, sounding very relieved.

'Oh no,' Albus contradicted, his voice very grave. 'I'm afraid there is no doubt now that Harry was the one meant.'

'But you said that –'

'You are forgetting the rest of the prophecy, my dear.' Albus said, wearily. 'There were other parts that defined the boy meant, beyond the date of his birth. "And the Dark Lord will mark him as his Equal,"' he quoted back at her. 'And so he did. I learned fairly quickly that Voldemort believed the Potters' child to be the one meant by the prophecy. I advised James and Lily to go into hiding – to use the Fidelius Charm on the cottage. To keep safe. But they were betrayed, and Voldemort attacked…' he trailed off again, his eyes growing moist. 'And so there can be no doubt now, with the scar Voldemort himself left on the boy – his mark, as it were.' Albus finished, turning to face Minerva again.

'I keep Sybill here, Minerva,' he said slowly, 'because she cannot possibly be anywhere else. Voldemort does not know the full contents of the prophecy she made that night, even now. Sybill would be in grave danger if Voldemort were to come for her, and she does not even realise why. I think it would be unwise to enlighten her.'

'And Harry?' Minerva asked, her eyes wide and fearful, tears flowing softly down her cheeks.

'I will not tell him, yet,' Albus answered quietly. 'He is still much too young – and I cannot put such a burden on him now. Not until he is older. When he is ready to face it.' Minerva clutched his arm, in solidarity and sympathy.

'That is why I speak to him so, my dear,' Albus explained, still in the tone of great sadness. 'I want him to know the power of choice, and the importance of free will. He cannot discount prophecy, because it will play an integral role in his life. Whatever Harry may do, Voldemort will continue to set store by the prophecy, and he will hunt him in an effort to fulfil its terms. But I do not want Harry to define himself by what he thinks his destiny must be.'

A single tear fell down Albus's face as he finished. Minerva brushed it aside with trembling fingers, and lay her head against his shoulder. And together, they stared out at the silent grounds of Hogwarts, standing sentinel on her ramparts.


	10. A Birthday Party

**DISCLAIMER** : Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 10: A Birthday Party**

At dinner the following evening, Dumbledore and McGonagall surprised Harry by asking what he would like to do for his twelfth birthday. Harry looked up at them from his plate of stew, thrown by their interest.

'Er – what day is it today?' he asked.

Snape, who was seated across from Harry tonight, gave him a slightly mocking sneer and answered immediately. 'Thursday.'

Harry frowned at him, but did not dare roll his eyes. 'I meant, professor,' he said in a voice of forced politeness, 'What is today's date?'

'It is the 30th of July, Harry,' the headmaster put in, before Snape could retort.

Harry was surprised. The summer had flown since he'd been at Hogwarts. He gave a little shrug, spooning his stew around. 'I don't mind, sir,' he said to Dumbledore. 'I don't really need to do anything special.'

Dumbledore and McGonagall both looked highly scandalised. Harry didn't quite understand their concern – after all, his birthday had hardly been a cause for great celebration in the past. He'd never had a party, or indeed even a birthday cake. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had always celebrated Dudley's birthday with even more attention and fanfare than Christmas morning, but Harry would probably not have even known when his birthday _was_ if they hadn't had to memorise them in year two of Muggle primary school.

'Of course we'll do something to celebrate!' McGonagall said immediately. 'It's not every day you turn twelve, Harry,' she added with a smile. Snape looked like he might sick up his stew. He coughed noisily, fumbling for his wine and taking several bracing swallows.

'Goodness, Severus, are you feeling quite well?' Dumbledore asked politely from across the table. Severus shot him a dirty look from behind his goblet.

'Perfectly well, thank you, headmaster,' he replied in clipped tones. Harry hid his smile with another bite of stew. Dumbledore winked at him.

'So, Harry,' the headmaster said, turning in his chair, 'What would you like to do? We could have a bit of a party in the grounds, or you could have a few friends to the castle if you'd like.'

Harry brightened immediately, thinking of his two best friends. He had owled back and forth with Ron and Hermione, but he really would like to see them. He didn't want to put the headmaster or Professor McGonagall to any trouble… but they both seemed to want him to do something special for his birthday.

'Would it be alright if Ron and Hermione came to visit, sir?' he asked tentatively. 'We wouldn't be any trouble – I promise.'

Dumbledore smiled, nodding cheerily. 'Of course, Harry. I think that would be more than satisfactory. I'll floo Molly and Arthur straight after dinner, and perhaps they can arrange for Ms Granger to travel from their home with Mr Weasley tomorrow morning. You can all spend the night in Gryffindor Tower, if you'd like.'

Harry nodded eagerly. 'That would be great, sir, if it isn't too much trouble.'

'It is no trouble at all, Harry,' Dumbledore assured him.

Harry dug into his chocolate gateau with vigour, excited at the prospect of seeing Ron and Hermione for his birthday.

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Albus smiled at the excitement on Harry's face. He'd barely been able to keep from skipping down the corridor as he walked back to the study with Albus and Minerva, already excitedly plotting activities for his day with his friends. Minerva left them on the third landing to see to Gryffindor Tower, which had been closed up for a month as was custom during the summer holiday. She advised Harry to get a good night's sleep, still a little anxious that it was only a few days since he'd been ill, and quietly told Albus to make sure the child went to bed at a reasonable hour.

Albus brought Harry up to his quarters, and sent him off to change into pyjamas and brush his teeth while he flooed the Weasleys. After the boy bounded away, Albus took a pinch of sparkling powder from the tin on the mantle and kneeled on the hearth, calling for the Burrow as he stuck his head into the flames.

The swirling green fire cleared to show him a cramped kitchen, packed full of pots, saucepans and the assorted trappings of a busy home. Albus could hear excited voices and laughter from the adjacent room – it sounded like some of the boys were playing some sort of game. The conversation was punctuated by a series of minor explosions. Perhaps exploding snap, Albus thought.

' _What_ have I told you about playing that horrible game on my sitting room table!' Albus heard Molly Weasley admonish the group in ringing tones. He chuckled. 'Fred, George, Ronald,' the woman continued in exasperation, 'Clean this mess up then go immediately and get ready for bed. Ginny, dear, you should have been upstairs half an hour ago – come and wash that grime off your face and then straight to bed with you too.'

Albus watched as a little girl of ten or eleven pattered into the kitchen on bare feet, a flaming curtain of red hair swinging about her face. She stood on tiptoe to turn the tap and wet a shabby tea towel, dabbing at her cheeks with the practised air of one who had completed a similar clean-up many times before. Albus cleared his throat to get her attention, not wanting to startle the child. She whirled at the sound, her brown eyes widening as she took in Albus's countenance in the flames. Her pale face was still covered in a significant amount of black soot.

'Good evening,' Albus said, 'You must be Ms Ginevra Weasley.' The little girl nodded, still looking a bit frightened. Albus smiled, 'I am Albus Dumbledore, and I am a friend of your parents. Would you mind informing your mother or father that I wish to speak with them a moment?'

Ginny Weasley nodded, still not speaking, and darted from the room. A few moments later, Molly Weasley appeared in the kitchen doorway, looking harried. She patted fretfully at her hair as she approached the fireplace.

'Oh, Albus, I'm so sorry to keep you waiting! I didn't realise you'd be looking in tonight. I'm afraid Arthur's still at the Ministry – some sort of issue with a collection of Muggle postage stamps… did you need to speak with him?'

'Oh no, Molly dear,' Albus assured her. 'I'm afraid the apology should be mine – this was a rather unexpected call. But I can speak just as easily with you as with Arthur,' he added kindly, giving her a twinkling smile.

Molly Weasley was the sister of Fabian and Gideon Prewett – two wizards Albus had been very close to during the last war. They had died valiantly in a fight with Lord Voldemort himself, but their deaths had shaken Molly – who had been pregnant at the time with Ginevra – very deeply. Although Arthur had been an active member of the Order of the Phoenix, he had not wanted to involve his wife, especially after her brothers' tragic deaths. Albus supposed it was only natural that Molly would think he was here for Arthur.

'I had actually hoped to talk with you about your son, Ronald,' Albus continued. He saw Molly's eyes narrow suspiciously.

'Why? What's he got up to this time?' she asked, with the air of one preparing for the worst. 'I swear, I thought the twins were the limit, but nothing surprises me much anymore. After the stunt Ron, Harry and Hermione pulled at the end of last term, I suppose I should prepare myself that he might cause me more grey hairs than all the rest put together.'

Albus chuckled a little at her rant, but hurried to reassure her. 'Oh no, Molly dear, nothing like that. I wonder if I might come through for a moment?' Molly Weasley looked surprised, but hurriedly schooled her expression.

'Oh! Of course, Albus, of course,' she said, starting to clear the kitchen table of the detritus of the day. Albus stepped through into the kitchen, looking happily around.

The Weasleys were not a wealthy family by any stretch of the term, but they were very closely knit and quite happy. Molly and Arthur had seven children – all boys, but for the last. Albus had watched them all come through Hogwarts, each quite different and uniquely talented, despite the family resemblance. Every one of her boys had been in Gryffindor, and Albus doubted that the little girl – Ginny – would break with family tradition. Molly Weasley ran her home like a drill sergeant, but the house was always bursting with life and adventure. Albus found it charming.

'Thank you, Molly dear,' he said to the matriarch, as she handed him a cup of tea. With that knack of a well-practised mother, Molly had remembered just how Albus took it, although it had probably been years since last they'd shared a cup. Albus seated himself on the chair she indicated, and Molly took the chair opposite, looking curiously at him over the chipped rim of her own cup.

'So, what is it you wanted to speak about, Albus?' she asked him.

'Actually, I wonder whether Ron has told you much about Harry Potter,' he said, watching her face closely. 'The two boys are quite inseparable at school, as you probably have guessed given my letter at the end of term.'

Molly smiled fondly. 'Oh yes,' she said. 'Ron's told us all about Harry. I met him myself, on the first of September last year. Little Harry had been left all on his own at King's Cross Station, and he didn't know how to get onto the platform. He was ever so polite when he approached us. And then, of course, Harry and Ron got on so well – Ron couldn't stop talking about Harry and their little friend Hermione for weeks when he wrote home. And Fred and George as well, really – they play on the Quidditch team together, I believe. They say he's an excellent flyer, though of course in _my_ opinion he is way too young for such a dangerous sport.' Albus smiled faintly as she gave him a reproachful glare at this point. 'I sent him a present at Christmas – Ron wrote that Harry expected nothing from his own family, and I just couldn't think of the poor dear without anything to open on Christmas morning… he was ever so sweet about it afterward. I've been after Ron to ask him to stay later in the summer – his aunt and uncle just seem so horridly unpleasant – but from what Ron says he's actually been staying somewhere else since a week or so into the holiday.'

She looked over at Albus suspiciously. 'Why do you ask, Albus?'

Albus thought carefully. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to tell, even to the Weasleys, about Harry's staying at Hogwarts. But then again, he could hardly keep the situation entirely secret if he was to allow Harry to have friends at the castle. He decided to give a bit of the story.

'Did you ever meet Harry's relatives?'

Molly narrowed her eyes. 'I saw them, momentarily, at the end of term. They came to pick him up from the train. I think they were rather put out to do it.'

Albus nodded gravely at her. 'I do not think Harry has enjoyed much of a childhood with the Dursleys, Molly,' he said carefully. He saw her purse her lips, but she waited for him to continue. 'I went to check on him about a week into the holiday, and I found…' he trailed off, taking another sip of his tea without looking at her. 'I decided, in any case, that Harry could not stay there. I brought him back to Hogwarts with me for the rest of the summer.'

'Oh, Albus, that poor child!' Molly gushed, looking deeply upset. 'We can take him here, if you want. I'd be happy to have him stay. The poor dear – all alone in that horrible house. And I'm sure they were absolutely dreadful to him too… all those years,' she looked quite distraught. Albus could not disagree.

'Thank you, Molly. But we are happy to have Harry at Hogwarts – I find that I'm quite enjoying watching over him, actually. And I dare say Minerva has turned into a veritable lioness.' Molly gave him a very knowing look, her eyes a little misty. 'I'm sure, however, that Harry would love to come and visit for a time at the end of the summer. Perhaps he and Ronald could make their trip to Diagon Alley together this year?'

'That would be wonderful, Albus!' Molly gushed. 'I know Ron would be thrilled to have Harry to stay. Perhaps we could keep him for the last week or so of the holiday. Arthur and I could see the boys onto the train on the First.'

Albus inclined his head. 'That sounds lovely, Molly. I will ask Harry about it when I return to the school. However, I wanted to speak with you tonight about Ron's availability for tomorrow. It is Harry's birthday, and Minerva and I have given him permission to have Ron and Hermione Granger to the school for the day, if it is alright with you and Arthur and Ms Granger's parents. We can keep the children overnight, and drop them back off with you the following morning, if that is agreeable.'

Molly nodded immediately. 'That would be fine, Albus. It's good of you to see to it that he has a proper birthday for once. Have you asked the Grangers yet?'

Albus shook his head. 'I sent an owl to Ms Granger's parents during dinner informing them that I would be calling tonight, but I came to speak with you first. I was hoping you would consent to collect Hermione by floo tomorrow – I am not sure she will have travelled in that manner before.'

Molly agreed immediately. 'Of course, Albus, we'd be happy to collect her. Would you inform the Grangers on your visit? You ought to get going if you intend on seeing them tonight – it's already growing quite late. Shall we bring both children by tomorrow around, say, ten o'clock?'

Albus stood at once, gathering his cloak about him. 'That would be perfect, thank you, Molly.' He tipped his hat to her as he headed for the door, deciding he may as well apparate to the Grangers' home. 'And thank you for the tea and conversation – it has been too long since we've been able to do this.'

'Of course, Albus,' Molly said graciously, seeing him to the door. 'I'll look forward to seeing you in the morning.'

Albus inclined his head in reply, and with a swish of his cloak, he vanished.

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Harry woke early the following day, excitement rousing him from sleep. He hadn't even had a nightmare.

He sat up straight up in bed. He was _twelve_ today. It felt odd to be so happy for his own birthday – he'd never got overly excited about it before. But today, he'd get to see Ron and Hermione. He missed them terribly after a month apart.

Harry pushed the bedclothes away and got dressed as quickly as he could, even running a comb through his impossible hair. He rushed down the stairs to the study, though it was barely seven. Both McGonagall and Dumbledore were already there, dressed for the day. Dumbledore was seated at his desk, his brow furrowed as he read what looked like a long and official letter. Professor McGonagall was on the sofa, perusing _The Daily Prophet_ and sipping at a cup of tea. They both looked up as Harry came into the room.

'Ah, good morning, Harry, and happy birthday!' Dumbledore said warmly, putting aside the letter and coming to meet him. To Harry's slight surprise and embarrassment, Dumbledore pulled Harry into an embrace, kissing the top of his head. Harry hugged the headmaster back, pleased, though his cheeks were burning. McGonagall cleared her throat from behind him, and embraced Harry in turn as Dumbledore released his hold. Her eyes were a bit misty as she let him go, smoothing the stubborn tuft of hair at the back of his head.

'Happy twelfth birthday,' she said fondly. Harry grinned as he gave his thanks. Dumbledore strode over to the low table in the sitting area, where a large wrapped parcel was stationed on the glass.

'Come and open your gift, Harry,' he said with a smile. Harry stared.

'You didn't have to get me anything,' he said, looking between Dumbledore and McGonagall with embarrassment. Dumbledore continued to smile at him, his eyes twinkling.

'Of course we did, Harry,' he said, lifting the package from its place on the table and setting it on the sofa beside Harry as McGonagall steered him into a seat.

'But –' Harry tried to protest, 'But you already bought me all those new clothes and things in Hogsmeade, professors.' McGonagall waived a hand impatiently.

'Those were necessities, Harry,' she said dismissively. ' _This_ is a birthday present.'

He gave up the fight, knowing he wouldn't win anyway, and tugged at the ribbon on top of the package. The parcel exploded open with a terrific bang, and Harry was engulfed in thick violet smoke. He scooted away from the package in shock, coughing.

'Apologies, my dear boy,' said Dumbledore from above him, his eyes twinkling as he chuckled shamelessly. 'I simply could not resist.' McGonagall gave him a reproachful glare, though she too seemed to be fighting back a laugh at the stunned look on Harry's face.

'It's alright,' she said, pushing him back toward the gift. 'I promise the contents were boxed up by a wizard _less_ childish than the headmaster. We only let him handle the wrappings.'

Harry smiled a little and reached for the package again. He split aside the wrappings gingerly, as they were still smoking, and saw with delight that the box contained a full set of Quidditch gear.

'Wow!' He exclaimed in excitement, pulling a handsome pair of dragon-hide gloves with professional grips out of the box. Below the gloves, he unearthed a new set of boots that would give him much better traction on the pitch than his old beat-up trainers had, leather pads for his knees and elbows (Dumbledore's idea – he was certain – given the old man's anxiety when he'd come out to watch Harry train), a handsome set of Gryffindor-coloured sport robes for practising, and a small golden practice snitch.

'This is wonderful,' he said, gesturing at the pile of presents. 'You really didn't have to do all this, just for me. Thank you.' He gave each of the professors another hug, trying to put a bit of his swelling gratitude into the embrace. He thought he heard McGonagall sniff as they broke apart.

'It was nothing, my dear boy.' Dumbledore said, patting Harry fondly on the shoulder. 'And mind you keep that padding on when you're in the air,' he said, adopting a stern tone that didn't suit at all and wagging a finger mock-threateningly in front of Harry's nose. 'I'd rather not be picking up what's left of _you_ in a box, the way you dart around without a care for your own neck.'

Harry gave him an impish grin. 'Professor McGonagall doesn't mind,' he said slyly. 'She lets me practise with the bludgers and everything. In fact, sometimes she even chases me herself, just to make it a bit harder.' He couldn't contain his laughter when Dumbledore gave McGonagall a look of horrified betrayal, which she rebuffed immediately with an indifferent shrug.

'There are few things in this world more important that Quidditch, Albus,' she said in a serious tone. 'The boy needs to train properly if we're to win the cup this year.'

Dumbledore looked between the pair of them in exasperation. 'I can see I'll lose this battle, my dears,' he said in defeat, his eyes twinkling. 'I'd better get you both off to breakfast before you decide to practise in my study.'

Harry grinned conspiratorially at McGonagall as they allowed Dumbledore to chivvy them out of the room, headed for the Great Hall.

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Albus had been unsurprised to find that Severus was not in attendance at breakfast. The hour was a little earlier than usual, but Albus personally suspected that Severus was avoiding the other occupants of the castle in anticipation of the celebratory day. He indulged Harry by having the house-elves send up a selection of sweet cakes and crumpets instead of the usual porridge and eggs, although he could see Minerva itching to tell him off for offering so much sugar so early in the day. Never having celebrated a specific child's birthday before, Albus felt a need to pull out all the stops to ensure that Harry enjoyed himself.

After breakfast, Harry dragged Minerva off to the pitch to try out his new Quidditch gear. She consented only too happily, for which Albus was grateful – the Weasleys were not due to arrive with Harry's friends until ten, and he knew keeping Harry in the castle to wait the hour and a half would be next to impossible. While Minerva and Harry were occupied with their brooms, Albus took a stroll down to the dungeons.

He hadn't been into Severus's lab in several weeks – he'd been so preoccupied with Harry and trying to manage his business with the International Confederation after his hasty departure from the conference. To his displeasure and disappointment, the confederation had moved ahead with their scheme for the giant relocation in spite of his warnings and over his formal objection. Like the British Ministry of Magic, the ICW was far too concerned with maintaining their tenuous control over other magical beings – a short-sighted policy that Albus feared would put them all in great danger in future. Albus had spent most of his limited free time writing letters to the ICW and the Ministry, trying to mitigate the fallout. He knew he would likely need to meet with Cornelius Fudge – the British Minister for Magic – on this and several other subjects before the end of the summer, but hoped he could put the meeting off until Harry was out of the castle for a time. He did not want to share the new location of the Boy Who Lived with the ambitious and bumbling Minister. Nor did he particularly want Harry to meet the man.

Breaking himself from his musings as he reached the door to Severus's private lab, Albus put out a hand and knocked three times on the dark wood.

'Enter,' Severus called in his deep, silky voice.

Albus pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the room. Severus was in a darkened corner, bent low over a simmering cauldron. He spared Albus a glance as he walked in, but did not emerge from his work.

'Severus,' Albus greeted, coming closer to the Potions master. He pulled over a stool from one of the work tables and perched himself upon it, gazing interestedly down at the potion Severus was stirring.

'Headmaster,' Severus acknowledged, still focused on the cauldron. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'Oh, nothing in particular, my boy,' Albus said, airily. 'I just realised it had been some time since I'd been down to visit you, and I thought I'd take a walk to see how your research is coming along.'

Severus looked suspicious, but he nodded. 'It is going well,' he offered succinctly.

'Good, good,' Albus said, smiling at him. 'We missed you at breakfast this morning, Severus. I hope you've remembered to call a house-elf for something to eat.'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'This brew is at a delicate stage, Albus,' he said. 'I'll be sure to have a large lunch,' he added with a hint of sarcasm. Albus smiled.

'Excellent. Well, you can join us in the Great Hall around midday then, my boy. We will be having a bit of a special luncheon, for Harry's birthday.'

Severus did not bother to contain his scowl. 'Ah, yes, of course. The Golden Gryffindor turns twelve. What an occasion,' he mocked, voice dripping with sarcasm now. 'I'm surprised you're here, actually, Albus. Aren't the rest of his little posse due to arrive any minute?'

Albus gave him a piercing look over the edge of his glasses. 'Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger will be arriving at ten, yes. I would appreciate it if you joined us for lunch, however, and if you kept your personal feelings on the occasion to yourself. Harry has never had a chance to celebrate his birthday before.'

Severus looked somewhat abashed at the dressing down. He changed the subject. 'You still have not mentioned the Occlumency to him, Albus?' he pressed.

Albus sighed. 'No, not yet,' he admitted. 'I intended to raise the idea with him after his birthday, once the other children have left. There is still a month of holiday remaining.'

Severus looked as though he wanted to say something but seemed to change his mind, looking back down into his cauldron again. Albus considered him. 'Why does it interest you so, Severus? You have made it clear that you do not wish to instruct Harry on the subject.'

Severus looked uncomfortable. 'Clearly whatever it is he sees in those dreams has left him quite distraught. I do not enjoy seeing children suffer needlessly, Albus,' he said carefully, 'Even Potter.' He scowled a bit as he said the name, dark eyes flashing.

'Potter's son,' Albus corrected him, recognising the dislike in Severus's eyes. 'And Lily's,' he reminded, very quietly. Severus looked stricken by Albus's reference, and turned to chopping a pile of rat spleens with an intensity that suggested each one had James Potter's countenance.

'I do not forget, Albus,' Severus said in a tight whisper. 'And I will keep my promise.'

'I know you will, my boy,' Albus said, his voice soft with understanding. 'I never doubt that, you can be sure.'

He watched Severus dice the spleens in silence for a few minutes, then stood to leave again. 'I'll leave you to your work, Severus. But I do hope you will join us at luncheon.'

He leaned forward, resting his hand on Severus's arm briefly, and looking him in the eye. 'Do try to enjoy yourself a little, my boy. Harry is an engaging child once you take the time to know him, and it is not a crime to be young and happy.'

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Harry was practically bouncing on his feet as he paced back and forth in the Great Hall, waiting for his friends to arrive. McGonagall and Dumbledore had come to greet the Weasleys too, but were seated much more calmly at the high table, having a cup of tea while they waited.

'Do you think they've forgotten the time?' Harry asked McGonagall anxiously, as the clock ticked ten minutes past ten.

'I'm sure they're merely running a few minutes behind schedule,' McGonagall assured him. 'Do come and sit down, Harry, you're making me cross-eyed with that pacing.'

Harry had no sooner turned resignedly for the table when the great fireplace flared green. He whirled round in excitement, watching as the swirling figure of a slightly plump, red-haired woman with a beaming smile materialised in the flame. Mrs Weasley stepped forward out of the fire, brushing ash off the skirt of her robes.

'Harry, dear!' she said in greeting, catching sight of him as she raised her head. She pulled him immediately against her chest in a hug, then held him out again, cupping both his cheeks.

'Hello Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, smiling at her.

'It's so lovely to see you, Harry!' she gushed. 'And a very happy birthday!'

'Thank you,' he said, blushing a bit. He tried to surreptitiously glance behind her, checking for Ron in the fire. Mrs Weasley seemed to notice his distraction.

'Ron will be along in a moment, dear. Arthur's just instructing Hermione on how to use the floo powder – she's never done it before, you see,' Mrs Weasley explained with a smile. Harry nodded. She scrutinised him a little closer. 'You're looking a bit peaky dear,' she said fretfully. 'Are you getting enough to eat?'

'He eats perfectly, Molly,' Professor McGonagall put in, coming over to greet Mrs Weasley herself and looking a bit offended at her insinuation. 'He's just recovered from an illness.'

'Oh, dear, Albus never said! Perhaps we ought to have waited a few days for all this excitement,' Mrs Weasley said worriedly, now looking at Harry with concern.

'I'm fine, Mrs Weasley,' Harry tried to assure her. It was made a little difficult by the fact that she was still maintaining her grip on both his cheeks. Luckily, Dumbledore had come to join the group as well, and Mrs Weasley released her hold on Harry in order to greet the professors.

Harry was distracted from the exchange of pleasantries by the flare of the fireplace again. This time, he saw the figure of his best mate, Ron Weasley, spinning through the flames. He practically fell out of the fireplace, and Harry ran to meet him.

'Harry!' Ron shouted in excitement, clapping him on the back.

'Hi, Ron,' Harry said, grinning at him.

'Bloody hell, mate – you didn't tell us you'd been at Hogwarts all this time!' Ron added in an undertone, so his mother would not hear him swear. 'Hermione went barmy when she found out.'

Harry started to explain, but before he was two words in, Hermione Granger stepped out of the floo. She was much more graceful on her exit than Ron had been, even though Mrs Weasley had said she'd never travelled by floo powder before. Harry turned to her with a smile, and she flew at him at once.

'Good to see you too, Hermione,' Harry laughed, spitting bushy brown hair out of his mouth to clear his airway for speech.

'Oh, Harry,' she gushed, still holding a grip around his neck, 'I've been ever so worried about you, you know! And all this time – you've been here, at school!' Harry broke the grip of her arms gently and stepped back to beam at them both.

'Yeah – it's been an interesting summer,' he said. 'I'll tell you all about it today. I –'

He was interrupted again as the floo flared once more, this time depositing a man Harry did not know. The man was tall and thin, with flaming red hair that was thinning with age, leaving a small and shiny bald patch on the top of his head. He had very kind blue eyes, and strode up to Harry immediately with a smile.

'Hello, Harry, and Happy Birthday!' he said, offering his hand. 'I'm Arthur Weasley – Ron's father.' Harry smiled back and shook Mr Weasley's hand.

'It's good to meet you, Mr Weasley,' he said politely. Mr Weasley beamed at him. He turned to find Dumbledore, holding up two small travelling bags.

'I have the kids' things here, Albus,' he said to the headmaster. 'Should I put them somewhere?'

'Oh no, thank you, Arthur,' the headmaster said with a smile. 'You may leave them here. I'll have a house-elf take them up to the tower later. Would you and Molly care for tea?'

'That would be great,' said Mr Weasley. He turned to face his son. 'I assume you lot want to head out now?' he asked, his eyes twinkling. Harry, Ron and Hermione all nodded, eager to get out into the grounds. 'Alright,' Mr Weasley agreed with a laugh.

Harry looked to Dumbledore, who nodded at him with a smile. He grabbed Ron and Hermione by the hand, pulling them toward the door.

'You lot behave yourselves!' Mrs Weasley called after them.

'We will, Mum!' Ron assured her over his shoulder.

The three of them pushed open the doors, laughing as they set off for the grounds.

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'So tell us, Harry,' Hermione said as they flopped down under their favourite beech tree by the lake, 'How did you end up at Hogwarts for the summer?'

Harry told her and Ron the story of Dobby's visit and the pudding disaster, and the arrival of the Ministry of Magic warning… leaving out the incident with Uncle Vernon on the stairs.

'So Dumbledore found out about it,' he finished, 'And came to see me next day. He brought me back to Hogwarts with him.'

'Wow, lucky break, mate,' Ron said, looking impressed. 'You were barely there a week!'

'I know,' Harry agreed, nodding fervently. Hermione looked troubled.

'But what on earth was Dobby warning you about, Harry? And where did he come from? He isn't one of the elves Dumbledore mentioned in the Great Hall?'

Harry shook his head. 'No. I've met a few of the house-elves here, but Dobby doesn't work at the castle.'

'If he's not a Hogwarts elf,' Ron offered, 'He'll be owned by one of the old wizarding families, and they'll be rich.' When Harry looked confused, Ron continued, 'House-elves come with big wizarding manors and country houses and such – they're usually inherited. The house-elf clan is enslaved to the same wizarding family for generations, and the next elf in the line continues to serve the family when its sire dies. House-elves are bound forever to the family they serve, unless they're freed, of course. But it's a very old tradition, owning a house-elf, and they tend to belong to rich families who were able to afford to purchase an elf back when the house-elves were first enslaved. You wouldn't catch one in a house like ours, for example.'

Hermione looked scandalised. 'But – that's horrible!' she exclaimed. 'You mean their _entire_ _magical race_ is enslaved to wizards? How can that _be_ in this day and age?'

Ron shook his head, looking at Hermione with the sort of dumbfounded expression he often wore when she spouted off about some Muggle invention, or at times – like now – when she or Harry seemed completely thrown by some aspect of wizarding tradition Ron took for granted.

'It's the way it's always been, Hermione,' he insisted. 'Enslavement doesn't mean the same thing you're thinking – it's not like it was with people and all that mad rubbish dad says they had in the Muggle world. Wizards never bought in for that sort of thing. House-elves _want_ to serve. They wouldn't know what to do without wizards to take care of and houses to clean… it's what they like.' He shrugged. Hermione looked like she wanted to argue the point further, but Harry cut in before she could build up a head of steam.

'But who could Dobby be working for, then? Why would he come to warn me off Hogwarts?'

Ron shrugged again. 'I dunno, Harry. Maybe… the Malfoys? Or the Parkinsons? Loads of the Slytherins will have elves – most of them are from the old pure-blood lines, and tons of their families are rolling in wizard gold. I'll bet any of that Slytherin gang Malfoy hangs around with would think it a laugh if you didn't come back to school.'

Harry frowned, considering the idea. 'I don't know…' he said in thought, 'maybe. But Dobby seemed really sincere when he was warning me that there'd be danger here this year. And he definitely was afraid he'd tell too much – he kept hurting himself. I got the impression that he came without telling whoever controls him.'

Ron raised his eyebrows. 'If he did, that'd be really strange,' he said.

'Why?' Hermione asked in puzzlement.

'Because house-elves have got really powerful magic of their own,' Ron explained, 'But they can't usually use it without their master's permission. If they do, they have to punish themselves. They aren't supposed to do anything that might expose their families' secrets, or go against their wishes.'

Harry nodded thoughtfully, remembering Dobby's actions at Privet Drive. Hermione looked a little frightened. 'Harry,' she said, 'I think you'd better take Dobby's warning seriously.'

Harry stared at her in shock. 'What, not go back to school this term? Are you mad, Hermione?'

'No, of course that's not what I meant!' Hermione said quickly. 'But Harry, Dobby can't have come to warn you by mistake. Whoever he works for and whatever the reason he came to see you, it's obvious that _something_ is going to happen this year at Hogwarts. You should be careful.'

Harry nodded seriously at her. 'I know,' he said. 'I've already had some trouble.' And he told them about falling ill earlier that month, and Dumbledore's theory that someone had deliberately given him the virus. Both Ron and Hermione gaped at him, wide-eyed.

'That's not on, mate.' Ron said, looking horrified by the very thought.

'And Professor Dumbledore has no idea who might have done it?' asked Hermione, looking equally upset. Harry shook his head.

'No, but he says he's put up additional wards, and he gave me a lecture on being more careful,' Harry said, trying to reassure them.

'Oh, Harry, make sure you are!' said Hermione, gripping his arm painfully in her fear. 'Please – be so, so careful!' Harry rolled his eyes at her.

'Honestly, you'd think I walk round with my eyes shut!' he grumbled, trying to lighten the mood. Ron gave him a feeble smile, but Hermione didn't look deterred. Harry cleared his throat, searching for some distraction. 'Hey – I got a load of new quidditch gear from Dumbledore and McGonagall for my birthday. Why don't we go over to the quidditch pitch for a bit? You guys can take some of the school brooms from the shed for the day, and we could fly!'

Ron was very enthusiastic about the idea, though Hermione said she'd watch the other two. Harry knew she wasn't all that comfortable in the air. The three of them rose from their place by the lake and headed toward the pitch. Harry summoned Mina and asked her if she'd keep watch for them, as he knew Dumbledore would go mental if they were up in the air without any supervision. The little elf agreed immediately.

As they walked toward the broom shed, Hermione looked up at Harry, frowning.

'The one thing I don't understand though, Harry,' she began, looking troubled, 'Is why Professor Dumbledore brought you here in the first place? He really took you from your aunt and uncle's just because you got a warning letter from the Ministry? And even after the charm wasn't yours to start with?'

Harry felt a bit uncomfortable. He shrugged, turning to open the shed door. 'I'm not really sure why, Hermione. But I wasn't going to complain.'

Ron started digging through the meagre selection of school brooms immediately; but once Harry had grabbed his Nimbus, Hermione pulled him out of the shed by the arm and turned him to face her.

'Harry,' she said, her eyes serious again, 'What happened at your aunt and uncle's?'

Harry swallowed, feeling hot about the ears. Ron seemed to have chosen his mount and stepped out of the broom shed as well, looking curiously at Harry.

'My uncle.' Harry said shortly, wishing to get it over with. 'He went a bit mad when the dinner party was ruined. He slapped me around a bit – it's never happened before!' he put in hurriedly, seeing the mingled looks of horror and fury on both their faces. 'They've always hated me – you know that – but he's never actually taken a swing at me before. I think he just… snapped, that night,'

Harry tried to shrug, like it wasn't a big deal, but both Ron and Hermione were still gawking at him. 'Anyway,' he went on, 'Dumbledore arrived next day, and my cheek was sort of bruised, and he was furious. I've never seen Dumbledore like that. The air just sort of went cold, and his eyes went all hard and flat… he told me to get my things, and he brought me straight here. He fixed my face in about ten seconds, and then he and McGonagall told me I'd be staying the rest of the summer.' He shrugged again. Hermione's eyes were filled with tears.

'Oh, Harry,' she said, giving him another fierce hug. Ron cleared his throat heavily and patted him a few times on the shoulder, looking equal parts awkward and upset. Harry gave them both a small smile.

'Really, guys, it isn't a big deal. Like I said, Dumbledore fixed me up straight away, and he and McGonagall have been great this summer. It's loads better here than at the Dursleys.' He pushed Hermione gently away and grabbed onto his Nimbus. 'Now come on,' he said to them, trying to bring the day back to its earlier light-heartedness. 'Let's just play some quidditch.'

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Several hours later, Albus summoned Mina to usher the children back inside for luncheon. The boys came in pink-faced and windswept, having spent the morning out on the quidditch pitch. Hermione, who was not that found of flying, had brought a book out to read in the stands, and was slightly less dishevelled as a result.

Harry was swept up immediately into a rib-cracking hug by Hagrid, who pressed a clumsily wrapped gift into his hands when he let him go. Harry thanked the half-giant profusely, opening the package to reveal a tin of Hagrid's homemade rock cakes and an oddly shaped wooden cylinder. Harry held up the little instrument, looking at it in confusion.

'Tha's a whistle, Harry,' Hagrid explained, watching Harry examine the gift. 'I carved it meself.'

Harry smiled at him. 'A bird whistle?' he asked.

Hagrid shook his head. 'Nah, he said, waving a huge hand, 'Yeh can make mos' of them bird sounds yerself, with a bit o' practice. Nah, tha'll call the thestrals to yeh – if ever yeh get into trouble in the forest or by yerself in the grounds. It's hard for mos' people to make that call themselves.'

Ron and Hermione, who'd been listening, looked both interested and a little wary. 'Hagrid?' Hermione ventured, looking nervous, 'What exactly _are_ thestrals?'

Hagrid smiled at her. 'Thestrals are big, winged creatures. Sort o' like horses. They're right smart, thestrals. Good at findin' places, an' people. We got a whole herd o' 'em in the forest. Might be the only domesticated herd in Britain, I reckon. Anyway,' he added, turning back to Harry, 'Yeh use tha' to call 'em, and they'll come right to yeh. Help yeh outta trouble, they will.'

Harry thanked Hagrid again, looking at the little whistle with renewed interest. Albus noticed that Hagrid seemed to have forgotten to tell the children that the thestrals, if they successfully called them, would be invisible. Thestrals were only visible to those who had seen death, and could comprehend it at the time. Even Harry, who had watched his mother die, would not be able to see the black winged horses. Albus made a mental note to tell him himself later on. He was actually quite impressed with Hagrid's gift – and it _would_ be good for Harry to have another means of escape if he ended up in some dangerous situation outside the castle walls.

'You all look like you've had an exciting morning,' Albus said to the trio as they selected seats at the table.

'Oh yes, Professor,' Hermione said, looking a little intimidated at being spoken to directly by the headmaster. 'It was lovely!'

Albus smiled at her. At that moment, the doors to the hall opened again, and Minerva entered at a brisk walk. She was followed – Albus was happy to see – by Severus. The Potions master looked highly uncomfortable, and gave the children an intimidating arch of his eyebrow as they watched his entry. They all quickly looked away again. Albus frowned slightly, but did not comment. At least Severus was not sneering.

He waited until both Severus and Minerva had seated themselves, and then looked around. 'Everyone has found a seat, I believe? Excellent. Well, let's all tuck in then!'

He clapped his hands twice over his own place, and a dizzying array of dishes appeared immediately up and down the table, the wood nearly groaning under the sudden weight. Albus watched Ron Weasley's eyes widen comically at the sight of the food. The boy dove immediately for a tray of hot rolls, stuffing one into his mouth before he'd even set them on his plate. He'd taken such a big bite that he gagged a bit, and Harry thumped him hard on the back.

'Do try not to choke, won't you, Weasley?' Minerva said primly, flicking her wand at a flagon of butterbeer and causing it to pour itself over Ron's goblet. 'I'd rather not have to explain to your mother.'

'Yes, ma'am,' Ron gasped out a little sheepishly, taking the goblet gratefully. He dished out the rest of his lunch with a bit more care. Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

'And how has your summer been, Ms Granger?' Minerva asked the girl kindly.

Hermione turned with a smile to answer. 'It's been quite lovely, thank you, professor,' she said. 'I've been very busy with the summer work, of course. Although I'm ever so jealous of Harry – getting to be here and have lessons through the holiday. He'll be so far ahead when we get back!'

Minerva seemed a little surprised, but Harry jumped in before she could answer. 'I'm not having lessons or anything, Hermione,' he clarified with a laugh. 'It's summer hols! I've been having a break as well.'

Hermione looked scandalised. 'But, Harry!' she said in surprise, 'You have such a wonderful opportunity! You ought to be learning loads – having the castle to yourself. You haven't done anything to work ahead a bit?'

Harry shrugged, selecting a cut of the meat. 'I've finished most of the summer essays, but that's all really.'

Ron shook his head, looking disgusted. 'We'll still got five weeks, mate,' he said to Harry. ''S not decent to have it all done this early. You're starting to scare me a bit.'

Hermione opened her mouth to comment further, but Severus – who had been watching the tête-à-tête from his seat farther down the table – cut across her. 'And I am still waiting for that revised Potions essay, Potter,' he said, with a significant look.

Harry coloured slightly. 'I'll work on it tomorrow, professor.'

Albus chuckled. 'Let's have a day off from discussing school work, children. After all, today is supposed to be a celebration.' He smiled fondly at Harry, who grinned back gratefully.

After a delicious meal, topped by a resounding chorus of _Happy Birthday_ (during which Severus had conveniently absented himself to the loo) and a seven-layer cake from the kitchens, the little party began to break up. Severus excused himself back to his research, and Hagrid announced he had to get back to the grounds to check a few things.

'But come an' see me this afternoon, you lot,' he said to the trio. 'I'll introduce yeh to the thestrals, tha' way they'll know yeh if yeh call 'em.' The children nodded enthusiastically, promising to come by in a bit. Albus gave Hagrid an approving smile, grateful that he did wish, after all, to cover a little more information on the animals with Harry.

All three of the children were looking rather tired from the luncheon and spent a bit of time in the hall afterward, playing a game of gobstones that Minerva had summoned. Albus and Minerva sat at the other end of the table, having a cup of tea and watching the game with mild interest. Ron Weasley swore loudly as he was sprayed in the face by the disgusting liquid.

'Language, Mr Weasley!' Minerva rebuked him sharply, as the boy scrubbed the putrid gunk out of his eyes. Albus conjured a damp flannel with a flick of his hand, which he floated over to Ron.

'Sorry, professor,' he said to Minerva, ears reddening a bit. 'And thank you, sir,' he added to Albus.

'I think I've had enough of gobstones,' Ron said, eying the board sullenly. 'Let's go down and see Hagrid.' Harry and Hermione agreed easily, though Hermione insisted that they stop off in the loo to have a wash first.

'See you in a bit, professors!' Harry called. Albus waved, and the three of them ran out of the hall.

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Albus watched Harry laughing as he chased after Ron, Hermione following at a more dignified pace. The trio was making their way toward Hagrid, as carefree and innocent as children their age should be. He watched as Harry caught up to the red-head and tackled him into the grass. Hermione sped up to meet them, her half-amused, half-admonitory lecture ringing back to Albus on the wind.

'Perhaps Ms Granger is right,' Minerva said to Albus, coming to stand next to him as he gazed over the ramparts at the children. They had taken another walk up to the Astronomy Tower after the trio had left the hall, enjoying the heat of the summer's afternoon and the view the tower offered.

'Pardon, my dear?' Albus said, turning to look at her. Minerva's gaze was on the kids as well. She placed a hand over his on the railing.

'Perhaps we ought to be instructing Harry this summer, rather than leaving him so much time for leisure. Extra lessons would no doubt be very helpful, given what you feel his destiny will be. And he is a reasonably talented child with strong magic. We could teach him to control it; harness it. We ought to give him his best chance.'

Albus sighed, turning his attention back to the sprawling park, where Harry, Ron and Hermione had almost reached the gamekeeper's hut.

'Perhaps, my dear,' he acknowledged in a heavy tone. 'And I promise I will think about starting some summer lessons for him… tomorrow. But what I have always wanted for Harry is this.' He gestured at the happy trio of children, laughing and walking arm in arm. 'I want him to have a childhood. To be happy. To take pleasure in a summer's day and the company of his friends. To know love. _That_ is his best chance. To take these moments from him now, while he is still so young…' he turned to face her, his blue eyes misted with unshed tears. 'I cannot bring myself to do it.'

The echoes of their last conversation on this tower rang back to them both as they stood there, looking out over the grounds again. Minerva brought the hand that rested over his up the sleeve of his robe, and ran her arm through his so they were entwined at the elbow. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Albus wasn't sure if she was seeking comfort, or giving it.

'He'll be alright, Albus,' she said, her eyes, too, focused on the children below. Albus placed his chin on the top of her head.

'I know,' he said quietly.

And right now, for this precious moment, this one day – he knew it was true.


	11. The Pensieve

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 11: The Pensieve**

The rest of Harry's birthday went wonderfully, right up until nightfall. The children came in from their afternoon at Hagrid's thoroughly excited about the thestrals, although shocked that they couldn't see them. They had dinner with Albus, Minerva, and Severus in the Great Hall, then Albus and Minerva took them up to Gryffindor Tower for the night.

They had decided that all three of the children would stay in what was usually Harry and Ron's dormitory, since neither professor was entirely comfortable with Hermione remaining on her own in the girls' dormitory and the children were far too young and innocent to be worried about anything untoward. Minerva had the house-elves see to fitting up three of the four-posters for the night, and she decided to stay in her own quarters just across the corridor that evening. Of course, Harry didn't know that Minerva usually spent the night in Albus's chambers anyway… and both Albus and Minerva decided that she should be close at hand, in case anything went wrong in the night. The pair of them saw the children into their beds, and left the tower.

Minerva was awakened hours later by a tiny hand shaking her shoulder. 'Mistress McGonagall, ma'am,' a squeaky voice said in her ear. 'Wake up, Mistress, wake up!'

Minerva's eyes snapped open. She turned to see a house-elf next to her bed, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

'What is it?' she asked the elf, alarmed.

'Mistress McGonagall asked Kimmy to stand watch in the tower, ma'am,' the elf reminded her timidly. 'Mistress says to tell her if anything goes wrong.'

' _Is_ something wrong in the tower, Kimmy?' Minerva asked the elf, already getting out of bed and tying a tartan dressing gown over her nightdress. The little elf nodded.

'Kimmy thinks so, Mistress,' she said. 'Master Harry is calling out, ma'am. Crying in his sleep. Kimmy tries to wake him, but Master Harry will not wake.'

Minerva felt her heart clench slightly. 'Are the other children awake?' she asked.

'The red-haired boy woke up, Mistress,' Kimmy said, nodding. 'Then Kimmy put a charm around the other bed. The young mistress still sleeps.'

Minerva nodded. 'Thank you, Kimmy. I'll go to them now.' The house-elf disapparated with a crack, and Minerva headed immediately for the door.

'Thistlewood,' she said in a whisper to the portrait as she crossed the corridor. The Fat Lady grumbled a bit at being awoken, but swung inward to admit Minerva. She crossed the common room for the stairs to the boys' dormitory, climbing quickly to the top, where the children lay. She didn't hear any sounds of disturbance, but pushed open the door quietly to enter.

Ron Weasley was sitting on the edge of Harry's bed, his face pale and concerned as he looked down at his friend. Harry appeared to be asleep. Minerva could not see any signs of a nightmare.

'Weasley?' she called quietly. The boy jumped, turning to face her. He looked scared.

'He stopped a minute or so ago, professor,' he said, correctly guessing the reason for her appearance. 'I got him to calm down. He didn't wake up.'

Minerva nodded, approaching the bed to look more closely at Harry. He seemed to be peaceful now.

'Thank you, Weasley. I'm sorry if it frightened you – Harry has been prone to nightmares of late.'

Ron was still looking in some concern at Harry. 'I've done it before, professor. He had a few of these nightmares during school, especially at the end of the year. Sometimes he wakes up, but sometimes he doesn't. I'm a light sleeper and I'm right next door, so I hear him before the others if it happens.' He shrugged. 'I can usually talk him down again.'

Minerva looked appraisingly at the youngest Weasley boy. Ron seemed so worried for his friend, and Minerva could see a touch of maturity there that she would not have expected from this child. She was surprised to hear the nightmares had started before the events of the end of term, but that was information to discuss later, with Albus.

'You've done very well, Weasley,' she said kindly to the boy. 'You should get back to bed and try to sleep now. I'll stay with Harry for a little while.'

Ron nodded, climbing off the edge of the four-poster and padding across to his own bed. Minerva watched him get under the covers, and a few minutes later could tell he had fallen back to sleep, his breathing evening out.

She brushed the fringe off Harry's forehead very gently, so as not to wake him. Harry turned a little in his sleep, but his eyes stayed shut. He looked so young – even younger than his twelve years – and so innocent as he slept. Minerva could scarcely believe, as she looked down on the small boy, that this child might one day determine the fate of their world.

A while later, Minerva pushed herself off her knees from where she'd been sitting vigil with the sleeping children, and headed back to bed.

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Albus saw the children back to the Weasleys after breakfast on the morning of the first. He could tell Harry was sad to see them go, but he brightened considerably when Albus told him that he'd be able to spend a week at Ron's home before the start of term. Minerva pulled Harry from his despondency at his friends' departure with an offer to take him out on the pitch for an hour or two, and Harry left with her as Albus shuttled Ron and Hermione toward the fireplace.

On his return, he found Minerva in a bit of a snit.

'What is wrong, my dear?' he asked her, as she strode purposefully toward him while he shrugged out of his travelling cloak and hung it behind his desk.

'You had a call this morning, Albus,' Minerva said, looking frazzled. 'It was very lucky I'd just sent Harry up to bathe – he was absolutely filthy, so much mud on the pitch after the rain in the night… otherwise, he might have been in the office when his head appeared in the fire.'

'Whose head, Minerva?'

'The Minister, Albus.' Minerva said, throwing up her hands in temper. 'Honestly, you ought to set new wards on that fireplace – at least a password or something. I know wizards can't just pop round and enter the castle, but even the wrong observer might get a glimpse of Harry if they call in at the right time. I'm surprised you haven't taken care of this before now!'

Albus bowed his head in acknowledgement of her concern. 'You are quite right, Minnie,' he agreed. 'And I shall take care of it forthwith. I should have done it the day we brought Harry here – it was a foolish oversight. I am grateful he'd already gone up. But what did Cornelius want?'

Minerva scoffed. 'Nothing particularly desperate, it seems,' she said, waving a dismissive hand. 'I think he's feeling rather neglected. He was keen to point out that you haven't been by the Ministry in nearly a month, and he has a number of things he wishes to speak with you on.'

Albus took a seat at his desk with a sigh. 'Yes,' he said, 'I'm afraid I've let things rather pile up this summer. I shall have to spend some time at the Ministry soon – if only to avoid another unexpected call from Cornelius. Perhaps I shall visit tomorrow after breakfast. I'll send an owl to schedule the time before we sit down to lunch.'

Minerva nodded once, looking pacified. 'I wanted to speak with you about last night as well, Albus,' she continued, her tone still quite serious. Albus considered her with a raised eyebrow.

'I wasn't aware of anything that happened last night, Minnie.' Minerva took a seat opposite him, with a glance up at the stairway. Albus listened too, but there was no sound of footsteps. Harry must still be cleaning up from the morning.

'Harry had another nightmare last night, Albus,' Minerva said without preamble. 'The house-elf I had watching over the children came to wake me. Ron Weasley had calmed him before I got there, and it seems he remained asleep. But we really must do something about these dreams. I am afraid he'll become ill again if his sleep is disturbed nearly every night, and we can hardly give him dreamless sleep on a daily basis.'

Albus sighed deeply, nodding his agreement. 'I have spoken already on the subject with Severus,' he admitted.

Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'With Severus?' she asked, surprised. 'That seems unlikely.'

Albus gave her a little smile. 'It seems he noticed the problem as well, when he was tending to Harry during our absence,' he explained. 'He's suggested that I begin teaching him Occlumency – to clear his mind before sleep.'

Minerva tapped the fingers of one hand against her lips in thought. 'I do not know much of Occlumency,' she said after a moment, 'having never studied the subject in great depth myself. But as I understand it, it is a highly difficult magic. Are you sure Harry will be able to grasp it at his age?'

'Not entirely,' Albus admitted. 'He is probably too young to master the finer techniques of actually repelling an intruder from his mind. To do so takes not only a great deal of magical talent, but a level of control that would almost certainly be beyond Harry while he is still so young. However, I do think he will be able to learn to close his mind to some degree, and that may be enough to shield him from the worst of the night terrors.'

'I suppose so, if you think it can be done, Albus,' Minerva said, nodding her head again. 'It's a good option, at any rate. But what of some other lessons? He is nearly finished with his summer assignments – perhaps it is time we offered to teach him a few hours each day.'

Albus was hesitant. 'I am still not keen to turn his time here into some sort of summer school, Minnie,' he said, frowning. 'But I will raise the idea with him this afternoon. Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise.'

Harry came tearing down the stairs at that moment, hair still wet from the shower. He looked between the two professors, frozen in their places across the desk, and furrowed his brow.

'Is everything alright, professors?' he asked.

Albus cleared his expression immediately and smiled at the boy. 'Of course, Harry,' he said easily. 'Professor McGonagall and I were just discussing my need to see to some business at the Ministry tomorrow. Are you hungry?'

Harry looked a little relieved. 'Yes, sir. Lunch would be great.'

Albus nodded. 'Then perhaps the three of us can take luncheon together in here today. I need to send a quick owl, but Minerva can order from the kitchens for us all. I'll join you in the sitting area shortly.' He made for the door, and the owlery, leaving Minerva to discuss the food options with Harry.

After luncheon, Harry ran off for the library for the afternoon, mentioning vaguely that he ought to finish his Potions essay in case Professor Snape asked for it again at dinner. Severus did indeed make good on the threat, and Harry proudly passed it across the table.

Severus raised an eyebrow as he took the scroll from Harry. 'I shall give you my comments on this tomorrow, Potter,' he said, in a tone that bordered on threatening.

'Yes, professor, thank you,' Harry replied, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for his goblet. Severus gave a satisfied smirk at the child's obvious nervousness.

'Harry,' Albus said, leaning forward to speak to the boy. 'Tomorrow morning, I shall have to leave for a few hours to take care of some business at the Ministry. But when I get back, I would like to speak with you. I think perhaps it is time I took more of a hand in your magical education,' he said. Harry looked back at him with wide eyes.

'Is it because of what Hermione said, sir?' he asked worriedly. 'Because I know I should be spending more time on my homework, professor. I promise I'll work in the library every day this month, to catch up on it.'

Albus patted Harry's hand, shaking his head and smiling reassuringly at him. 'Oh no, dear boy, nothing like that. You have been more than diligent enough. But I should like to take this chance to teach you a little myself, before your schedule and mine become muddled by the start of term. I have been told I was a good teacher – in my day.'

Harry's expression cleared, excitement creeping into his eyes. 'That would be great, sir!' he said enthusiastically. 'When do you want me to meet you?'

'I think sometime tomorrow afternoon, Harry. Perhaps around two.' He waited for Harry to nod before turning back to his dinner.

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The next morning, Albus rose early to prepare for the day. He crept quietly out of the bedroom, not wanting to wake Minerva, and went down to the study to read over a few letters and have some tea. The mullioned windows showed a beautiful sunrise – Albus could tell the day would be warm and mild. He thought perhaps he would borrow a thestral and fly to London rather than apparate, just to spend a little time out of doors. Harry was already sporting a healthy tan from his days in the grounds, but Albus felt he had barely been outside the castle walls since the end of term.

He summoned a house-elf for a tray of early breakfast and a fresh pot of tea, and sat to peruse his post. It was just gone seven when an additional owl tapped gently at the window – an oddly shaped package tied to its leg. Albus hurried to let the bird in. It fluttered wearily over to the desk. He detached the parcel and offered the little owl a bit of toast in gratitude. The bird took it in its beak, hooting its thanks, and flew off again out the open window.

Albus shot a glance at his watch – there was still a good twenty minutes before he'd have to get moving if he wanted to be at the Ministry when Cornelius got in. Plenty of time to investigate the new arrival before setting out.

Albus opened the package with interest, finding as he unwound the twine that it wasn't truly a package at all, but a letter – rolled carefully around a small phial. The phial contained a swirling, silvery substance that the headmaster recognised immediately. Intrigued, Albus unrolled the letter to read.

 _Headmaster,_

 _I have spent the last few weeks in an attempt to fulfil your request. I cannot say that I have had much success so far, although I have a few more weeks before I am needed back in Germany, and will continue to investigate._

 _I have been each night in the forest – including through the cycle. Thank you for the potion, incidentally. It has been a great help._

 _You were correct, I think, in your assumption that He has returned to this country, if indeed it was here that he remained until last summer. I can offer no definitive proof, but there are whispers among the creatures here. They speak of a darkness on the mountain, deep in the forest. Some say it is a shadow, capable of possessing the smaller animals. I myself have seen several carcasses among the trees, and they do show signs of dark magic._

 _I enclose my memories from last night. They do not offer much, I'm afraid, but the very nature of the place seems disturbed and wrong. It is easier to sense when I am running, but even in the day I can feel its weight. Perhaps you will be able to discern more than I could._

 _I will await your instruction, and otherwise plan to remain here for as long as I can. I'll be in touch if there is anything further to report._

 _I remain, yours truly,_

 _Remus Lupin_

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Harry sat nervously on his favourite sofa in the headmaster's office, waiting for Dumbledore to return from his meeting at the Ministry. Dumbledore had asked him to be here at two, and Harry was surprised that the headmaster wasn't already here – it was very unlike Dumbledore to run late. He wondered what it was the professor wanted to teach him. He'd mentioned that he wanted Harry to start some summer lessons – perhaps this meeting was to discuss the schedule. _Or_ , said the little voice inside his head, _Perhaps he's found out who tried to kill you last month, and didn't want to tell you over dinner_. Harry shuddered at the thought. Though he thought he probably should _want_ to know, he'd much rather leave the unpleasantness of that week buried deep – out of sight, and out of mind.

After another fifteen minutes or so, Harry couldn't take the anticipation much longer. He looked over at Fawkes, who was gazing at him dolefully from his golden perch. The phoenix caught his stare, and let out one long, beautiful note of his weird music. Harry felt a bit heartened, and rose from his seat to go stroke the phoenix's head. As he made his way toward the desk, however, Harry was distracted by an unfamiliar stone basin sitting on one of the headmaster's spindly little side tables.

The basin was beautiful; carved from a deep, shiny grey stone. Harry could see precious jewels set into the sides and around the rim, and dozens of tiny etchings – symbols and words in a language Harry could not read. Intrigued, he moved closer to the little table. Although the basin looked to be large and shallow, Harry could not see the bottom when he peered into its contents. The stone bowl was full of a swirling silver substance. The contents looked to be not quite liquid, but not exactly gas either. Harry pulled his wand, bringing the tip closer to the basin. He wanted to touch the swirls of silver… but even he knew – in his limited experience with the magical world – that to touch an unknown substance could be a very foolish and dangerous idea. He hesitated, then prodded the surface lightly with the tip of his wand.

The silvery contents began to morph and swirl more quickly, flashes of dark colour appearing on the surface. Harry was fascinated. He pocketed the wand, moving closer still to peer down at the strange pictures forming in the mist. Without conscious thought, Harry bent forward until his nose was right above the basin. He thought he could see a shimmering outline of a massive tree, but the image was distorted and warped by the odd silver mist. Harry leaned in a bit farther, and – quite suddenly – his nose made contact with the substance.

Harry had a brief sensation of odd chill, then he was pulled quite abruptly forward into the basin, his feet leaving the office floor. Startled, Harry fell through a strange mix of whirling colour and sound, tumbling head over heels into the unknown world.

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Harry landed with a little yelp of surprise, though his feet had touched the ground quite softly.

He was in a dark forest. The trees around him were old and covered in thick summer moss, a mixture of towering evergreens in varying shades of deep green and black. Overhead, a bright full moon allowed a bit of light to filter down through the canopy of leaves and needles. Harry could feel a heavy sense of ancient magic about the place, and the very trees seemed to be watching him. Moreover, Harry had the distinct, disquieting sensation that he'd been here before.

Frightened, he crept forward. Though the ground was covered in bits of twig and high growths of grass, Harry's feet made no sound. He heard, from his right, a low growl. He turned sharply, drawing his wand from his pocket, his heart jumping into his throat as he squinted through the darkness.

A pair of gleaming yellow eyes stared back at him. Even as he stood, frozen in fear, a second and then a third pair joined them. Harry could feel his pulse racing, but he was terrified to move and set the creatures after him. One stepped forward into a patch of moonlight, and Harry thought he might pass out as his horror mounted to new heights.

It was a wolf pack. Huge, imposing grey wolves – bigger than any Harry had ever seen in pictures or at the zoo during his one trip with the Dursleys last summer. Harry could not suppress his scream as the other creatures joined the first, sniffing at the ground and snarling at each other. But the creatures did not acknowledge him, even though the first had to be only feet from him now. Harry was struck by a sudden thought – the wolves could not _see_ him! It was the only explanation that made any sense, or he'd be dead by now.

A rustling noise in the brush caught the wolves' attention. Harry watched as the first beast, which seemed to be the leader, turned his head toward the new sound, his ears flat against his skull. He bounded toward the noise, the others following. Harry found his feet carrying him after the pack, although the part of his mind that still feared they might discover him warned loudly against this course of action. He creeped through the forest in the direction the wolves had gone, trying to keep quiet despite his growing sensation that he was invisible to the occupants of this strange place. He passed little woodland creatures on his way – none of whom seemed bothered by the presence of a twelve-year-old wizard in their home. Small squirrels, mice, and even a couple of snakes.

He didn't come across the wolves again for several minutes. When he did, he saw them fighting over some sort of carcass. As Harry moved closer, he saw the remains of what looked like half a deer. The wolf pack had swelled to six or seven animals, most of them snapping and snarling at each other as they tried to bite at the fallen doe. Only one remained outside the fray, staring down at the dead animal from a few feet away. Harry thought he looked rather forlorn.

'Time to return to my office, I think, Harry,' said a voice to his right.

Harry started, his heart still pounding, and looked round to see Dumbledore, standing serenely against a tree beside him. The headmaster did not look angry, but his face was very serious. He reached for Harry's hand, and Harry gave it without second thought. He felt a pull behind his navel as he and Dumbledore were rushed backward in a cacophony of sound and colour, landing neatly back on the office floor.

The silvery substance swirled innocently in the basin before him.

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'Sir, I'm so sorry,' Harry said immediately, his face ghostly pale and his eyes frantic. 'I didn't – I mean, I saw the basin was out on the table, and I just was curious, sir. I only meant to look, and then I leaned in and…' he trailed off, looking helpless.

Albus sighed and walked around his desk, taking a seat in the chair. 'It is not your fault, Harry,' he said reassuringly to the child. 'I should not have left the basin out when I knew you'd be coming in. It was my oversight. Naturally, you were curious.'

Harry nodded, but still looked decidedly shaken. 'What is it, sir?'

'The basin?' Albus asked. Harry nodded. 'It is called a Pensieve, Harry. A Pensieve is an uncommon, but highly useful, magical object. This particular artefact is one I inherited from my predecessor, Professor Dippet, when I became Headmaster of Hogwarts.'

'And what was that you found me in, sir?' Harry asked, eying the Pensieve with clear distrust.

'It was a memory,' Albus said, still watching Harry's chalk-white face. 'Not my own, in this case, although usually I use the Pensieve to consider my own thoughts. The Pensieve, you see, allows a wizard to remove thoughts, or memories, and view them at a new angle. It is a useful tool if one seeks to deduce patterns and connections that may be elusive otherwise. It can also be helpful on those days when a wizard has too much on his mind to contemplate. One simply siphons off the excess thoughts and adds them to the Pensieve for later perusal. It becomes easier to keep a clear mind that way, you see?'

Harry nodded absently, still looking at the stone basin with something close to fear. 'Whose memory was that, sir?'

Albus hesitated a moment. But, he reasoned, Harry was unlikely to recognise the name anyway, and even less likely to deduce the wizard's form at the time the memory had been acquired.

'Remus Lupin,' he said in answer. 'He is a friend of mine who has been living on the Continent for the past ten years or so. I asked him to visit this place as a favour to me, and he sent me his observations by owl this morning.'

The child looked deeply concerned. 'But – the wolves, professor! Is your friend alright?'

Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling a little. 'Oh yes, Harry,' he assured him. 'Remus is quite capable of handling himself with wolves. Do not worry.'

Harry nodded again. 'Where is that place, professor?'

Albus looked curiously at Harry, wondering why the child still looked so frightened. The memory was not exactly a happy one, but there was nothing to frighten a child so thoroughly… and Harry did not seem afraid of the Forbidden Forest in such a way.

'It is a portion of forest,' he answered, watching Harry's face carefully, 'In the mountains of Albania, on a particular mountain called Deravica. The range is called the _Prokletije_ , which roughly translates to "the accursed mountains." The forest in that part of the country is very old, and home to ancient magic.'

Harry seemed puzzled. 'But that doesn't make any sense,' he said, so quietly Albus had to strain to hear him. 'I've never _been_ outside of Britain.' He trailed off, still frowning at the Pensieve. Albus leaned forward a bit in his chair.

'Harry?' he prompted the child.

Harry looked up, his green eyes a little desperate in their confusion. 'I've been there before, Professor,' he said, his voice still scarcely more than a whisper. 'Well, not _been_ there, precisely, but I've seen this forest before. In my dreams.'

Albus felt distinctly disquieted. He stared at Harry hard for a moment. The child seemed certain.

'It was only a small portion of the forest, Harry,' he said slowly, trying to sound reassuring, 'And it looks very similar to other places. You probably imposed a bit of your dream into the scene when you viewed Remus's memory.'

Harry shook his head, looking resolute. 'No, Professor Dumbledore. I've dreamt about that forest a few times now – mostly while I was at the Dursleys. The dreams always slipped away as soon as I woke up, and I didn't really remember until just now. But I'm sure it's the same place. I felt the same…'

He trailed off again with a shudder, looking as though he couldn't quite describe the connection.

Albus felt a chill spread down his spine. He knew what Harry was trying to describe. Albus had not been lying when he told Harry the forest was ancient and steeped in magic. In fact, Prokletije was an infamous birthing ground for many kinds of the oldest, darkest magic known to wizards. Grindelwald himself had hailed from a village in the mountains and plumbed its secrets, probably more thoroughly than any other wizard alive. Vampire clans and werewolf packs abounded in the deepest sections of the forest, and even Muggles feared to tread too far from the known tourist paths. Rumours about the horrors of the mountains had abounded for years – many of them true.

Harry was young, but he was a highly magical child. Albus knew that Harry was trying to tell him that the magical aura of the forest had been unique – that _that_ was how he had recognised the location. The ability to sense magical auras was an uncommon gift, but one Albus shared. It did not usually manifest in full until a wizard came of age, although it had been known to present earlier where a child was exposed to darkest magic at a young age, as Harry had been. He doubted Harry knew exactly what he'd been feeling, or the significance of the sensation itself. But he needed no further explanation.

More troublesome, Albus wondered at how the image of the Albanian forest had come to be in Harry's dreams, when the child clearly had no waking memory of the place. He thought back to why he'd sent Remus there in the first place; to the rumours he was investigating; to what the accursed mountains were said to be concealing now. He thought about what Remus had reported: that he'd seen no definitive signs, but that there were whispers in the trees… dead creatures… dark shadows.

The feeling of unease deepened, and suddenly the need to solve these nightmares seemed magnified.

Harry was still looking at him, fright in his eyes.

Albus forced a soothing smile onto his face. 'Do not worry yourself, Harry. Put the image from your mind for now. In fact, I asked to meet you today to talk about these nightmares. I think there is a way to help them stop.'

Harry looked interested, his expression clearing a bit. 'How, sir?'

Albus stood from the desk, coming over to stand on the opposite side, nearer to Harry. He leaned back against the edge of the desk, drawing his wand from his sleeve. 'I wish to teach you an old magic. A magic that helps protect the mind from harm. If used correctly, it should help you shield yourself from bad dreams.'

He flicked his wand at the lamps in the study, brightening them against the darkening grey of the storm outside, as he showed Harry toward the sitting area.

Harry jumped onto the ottoman, kneeling with his feet beneath him and an interested expression on his face. 'What's it called, sir?' he asked.

Albus smiled, taking the chair opposite him.

'Occlumency.'


	12. How to Bewitch the Mind

**A/N** : Sorry for the few days' delay on this chapter, everyone! Unfortunately, I've been back at work and classes this week, so things are crazy once again. I will try to get another chapter up before end of week-end, and promise to keep to at least one chapter a week on this story. I hope you enjoy Chapter 12 - I found this one particularly difficult to write.

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 12: How to Bewitch the Mind**

Professor Dumbledore told Harry that he wanted to begin his studies in Occlumency that very evening, straight after dinner. He also gave him a book on the subject: _Mind Magic: A Beginner's Guide_ by Sebastian Sinclair. Harry had brought it into the Great Hall, a little early for supper. He had been out in the grounds after his meeting with the headmaster, visiting Hagrid and helping him plant some pumpkin seeds in the garden next to his hut. They'd spent a happy few hours trying to space out the seeds properly – Hagrid told him he expected each pumpkin to be nearly eight feet in diameter by the time Hallowe'en came along – but it had started to rain as the evening drew in. So, Harry had decided to read in the hall before dinner. Dumbledore hadn't given him a specific assignment yet, but he was rather nervous for his first-ever lesson with the headmaster.

In addition to Occlumency, Dumbledore had told Harry that he would be teaching him Defence. Harry was excited for these lessons, seeing as those with Professor Quirrell last year had taught them little apart from theory. Dumbledore also wanted him to take additional lessons with Professor McGonagall and – to his deep displeasure – with Professor Snape. Harry had protested, but Dumbledore insisted. At least he wasn't scheduled to have a 'session' with Snape for another two days, and the headmaster had promised that they would limit all his lessons to two a day, apart from Occlumency.

 _Hermione will be pleased_ , Harry thought glumly as he flicked through the first chapter of the book, waiting for the others to join him in the Great Hall for dinner.

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Severus, meanwhile, was having a blazing row with the headmaster in his dungeon quarters.

'Absolutely NOT, Albus!' he roared, slamming his hand on his desk hard enough that he felt a sharp pain burn up his arm. 'I told you before, it is out of the question!'

Albus gave an exasperated sigh. 'Let me see your arm, Severus,' he said, gesturing to Severus's right wrist, which he was rubbing at a little in an effort to reduce the ache from his rash show of temper.

'I am fine,' Severus said impatiently, forcing himself to cease his massage. The headmaster tutted and grabbed for his wrist. Severus hissed involuntarily as the abrupt contact sent another flash of pain up to his elbow. Albus raised an eyebrow, running his wand efficiently over the forearm.

'Sprained,' the headmaster noted, tapping Severus's wrist briefly. He felt it grow hot for a moment, then the pain faded entirely. Severus flexed the fingers experimentally. 'You ought to be a bit more careful, my boy,' Albus said.

'Thank you, headmaster,' Severus said grudgingly, with a wave of the newly-repaired hand. 'But I stand by my statement. I will not teach the boy. I cannot stomach it!' he spat, voice rising again as he regained his outrage. Albus looked completely unconcerned, which only infuriated Severus further.

'I took your feelings into account on the subject of Occlumency, Severus,' the headmaster said calmly. 'I won't ask you to instruct Harry on that front. All I am asking is that you set aside a few hours a week for Potions.'

'I don't care _what_ it is you want me to teach the brat – I am not doing it!' Severus spat. 'He causes enough havoc during the year as it is, headmaster. I'll not have him blowing up my lab in the summer as well.'

Albus actually took a seat, reclining comfortably on Severus's dark leather sofa. Even in the face of Severus's fury, the headmaster waved his wand, summoning a patterned tea set and pouring himself a cup. His passivity made Severus want to strangle the old man. 'Come now, Severus,' Albus said, in a tone one might use with a temperamental toddler. 'Have some tea and calm yourself. I'm sure you are more than capable of supervising one pupil adequately enough to prevent any unfortunate accidents.'

Severus refused to be pacified. Furthermore, after the last time he'd had tea in the headmaster's presence following one of his tirades, he did not trust that Albus hadn't laced the beverage with a measure of calming draught again. Severus might dose himself later, when the headmaster had gone… but he wasn't ready to relinquish his temper just yet.

'Exactly what must I say, Albus,' he said, trying to keep a modicum of control in his voice, 'before you understand? I do not _like_ the Potter brat. I do not _want_ to teach him in my limited free time. I do not _care_ what you do with him during the day, or whether you teach him yourself. But I want no part in it. The less Potter and I see of each other over the next month, the greater the chance that we both make it to the Welcoming Feast intact.' He set the cup of tea Dumbledore pressed into his hand aside, refusing to touch it.

'Severus,' the headmaster said sharply. 'You gave me your word, more than a decade ago, that you would do everything in your power to protect Harry Potter. You promised me that you would help him, for all our sakes. This is what is needed right now – these lessons.'

'Protect his _life_ , Albus!' Severus retorted. 'I swore to ensure that he continues to breathe in and out! I swore to make sure he is protected from the Dark Lord. And I have done so. I will continue to do so. I know what service you will ask of me if the Dark Lord rises – and I am prepared to do it. But I cannot see what extra Potions tutorials have to do with my vow to you, my promise to Her or, indeed, the boy's destiny.'

'It is everything, Severus,' Albus said, his own voice beginning to rise now. 'See sense! Lord Voldemort –'

Severus flinched.

'Will not remain shadow and vapour for long. He nearly succeeded in his plot to rejuvenate last term! Despite our efforts, we are no closer to seeing him gone, and we cannot hope to prevent him gaining a body forever. I am certain he will return, and Harry Potter will be in grave danger when he does – as I told you on the night you _swore_ to protect him.'

The headmaster rose from his seat, the tea forgotten on the table. 'I cannot impress upon you the importance of these next few years. We must do _everything_ to ensure that young Harry is prepared – in every respect – for the dangers he will face. That includes giving him the best education we can, and training him in all areas of magical study. I should have insisted on it the moment I brought him back to the castle.'

Snape felt slightly cowed by Dumbledore's wrath. He was used to the quiet admonishment, even the occasional stern tone. But to watch the headmaster grow truly angry was a completely different experience. It was usually Severus who flew into a rage. The air itself seemed to chill in response, and even the candles flickered and dimmed – the room darkening with Albus's power. Severus was strongly reminded that this was a wizard even the Dark Lord had feared to face at the height of his strength. Still, he felt the headmaster's gravitas was at sharp odds with his attitude toward the boy of late.

'But you have not, Albus,' he pointed out. 'The boy has been here three weeks, and you have never before mentioned these lessons. You hadn't even spoken to him about Occlumency until today. Why the sudden urgency?'

Albus hesitated a moment. 'He had a difficult end of term, Severus. I felt he needed a respite from the classroom. And then he fell ill. But things have changed now…' he trailed off a moment, coming to a halt in the pacing he'd begun in his anger. 'I fear his dreams may be more than just bad memories,' he said cryptically.

'Meaning what, exactly?' Severus asked, his voice still petulant, but now with a genuine hint of curiosity.

'I'm not sure just yet.' The headmaster answered. Severus waited a beat, but realised in the continued silence that Albus was not ready to share his musings.

'Headmaster,' Severus said, his own tone calmer and slightly pleading. 'You know I will give my own life to advance the boy's survival. But I truly do feel –'

'To be quite frank, Severus,' the headmaster interrupted, snapping out of his contemplation with an abrupt return to briskness, 'I do not care _what_ you feel, in this.' He looked back to the table, and vanished the disregarded tea set with an irritated flick of his wrist. 'You will be ready for Harry on Wednesday afternoon at three o'clock. I suggest you prepare yourself.' Albus headed for the office door, leaving Severus standing, chagrined, behind him.

'By the way, Severus,' Albus added, turning at the door with one hand against the frame, 'Harry starts Occlumency tonight.'

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Severus watched the headmaster's long silver hair whip out of sight, the door coming to a quiet close behind him. He snarled in exasperation, throwing a locking charm at the doorway, though he knew Albus would let him be now, at least until supper. _Potter_. Dumbledore's Golden Boy would be the death of him – one way or another.

Perhaps he would eat in his own quarters tonight.

Although it was much too early by his usual strict standards, Severus poured himself a drink from the whisky decanter. He sipped at the scotch, sitting on his sofa in Albus's erstwhile seat, in an uncharacteristic bout of lethargy. He was often short or foul-tempered with the headmaster, but it had been several years since Severus had had such an antagonistic argument with him. The occurrence left him languid and miserable. Albus was by far the closest thing Severus could count to family – certainly the only person who seemed to care about him beyond mere professional cordiality. He knew he owed the headmaster a great deal, and he respected the man immensely. He had pledged his life in service to Albus Dumbledore, when he had come to him in desperation and disgrace – that fateful night when he'd learned that the most dangerous wizard alive would hunt the only woman he'd ever cared for. Dumbledore had accepted him, vouched for him, and been his champion ever since.

Severus swallowed the remainder of the drink in his hand. He considered the empty glass, slightly disgusted with himself, not least for imbibing the drink. He had needed the scotch, but he despised drinking before dinner. It reminded him far too much of his father.

Severus had hated his father.

Tobias Snape had been a cruel man – a Muggle, and a drunk. Eileen had married him young. She'd always told Severus that he'd been different then. That he'd been charming; full of life and the youthful exuberance that had been common among the British Muggle middle class of the 1950s – filled with new hope for a future delivered from decades of war. If it was true, that side of the man had long been silenced by the time Severus had come along. By then, Tobias had been bitter, cynical and perpetually inebriated. Injured shortly after his marriage at his job in the mill, Tobias had begun to survive by living between odd jobs that never seemed to keep and the dole.

His father was the reason that Severus had learned Occlumency.

Eileen, in the common practice of the time, had not told Severus' father she was a witch until after they were married. Severus viewed his mother's union as a great sacrifice, but Eileen had always defended her choice. His father had been tolerant at first, or so he was told. But as the years passed, Tobias had resented his wife for her magic – most especially because it could not create the wealth that might keep himself or their family afloat. Severus doubted he had ever wanted children. Tobias certainly had shown little interest in acting the father.

Severus had been largely ignored as a small boy, but then the accidental magic had started. In his youth, Severus could not understand his father's rage whenever Severus caused something to happen by magic. As an adult, he thought Tobias had probably been jealous of his mother and himself. He dealt with it by spending more time at the local public house than ever before, staggering through the door late into the night and back out as soon as he'd slept it off. He'd piss away what little money the government had given them, and whatever else he'd managed to scrounge together from his occasional employment or Eileen's part-time work at the apothecary. Severus used to pray he'd have some luck betting the ponies each week, because when the money was gone, Tobias came home.

And he was much worse to have in the house.

Severus had been around five when Tobias began to hit his mother. At first, it had been an occasional thing. His parents would argue – over money, the drinking, the magic, and sometimes about Severus. Tobias would get angry, and then he'd get drunk, and then he'd take a swing. The first few times, Eileen had tried to use magic against him, to protect herself and her son. It had only made things worse. After a while, she started sending Severus upstairs when they argued, away from the scene she knew would come. But the house was small, and she couldn't drown out the noises. Severus would huddle under the blanket of his bed, alone and unable to help, and wait for his mother to come – to tell him the fight was over.

When he was seven, things got worse. Tobias had not had a job in eighteen months. He hadn't made it to the pub in three. He sat, day in and day out, in the small and dingy sitting room, chain smoking and drinking his scotch. It was Severus who caused the explosion, late one night after his mother came in. He had been sent upstairs again and sat on the top step, listening to his parents' shouting in the kitchen. He heard the crack of his father's hand; his mother's cry of pain. He wanted to make it stop. He wanted her away from Tobias. He wanted her safe, with him.

And she came. Floating up the steps like he'd wheeled her in on a fishing line.

She was crying as she landed beside him, pulling him into her arms. His father tottered around the corner, swinging the half-empty bottle of gin he'd been at for the night. He stared up from the ground floor at his son and wife on the landing, a dazed sort of shock on his face. Then, with a roar of anger, he started to manoeuvre his way up the stairs. Severus was surprised he could ascend so quickly in his drunken haze. Eileen gave a cry of distress, trying to shuttle Severus behind her. Tobias pushed her roughly aside, and brought the bottle down on Severus's temple. His vision blackened, his mother's screams of protest fading as he drifted.

He supposed, in the aftermath, he was lucky Tobias had been too winded by the climb to put his full force behind the blow. Though Severus had had a headache for two days, the glass hadn't broken against his skull. It wasn't the last time Tobias would hit him. Nor could Severus seem to stop the terrible nightmares that ensued.

'Close your eyes, Severus,' his mother said a few weeks later, lying down on the bed beside him after Tobias had passed out for the night. She'd found him trying to force himself to stay awake, fearful of the terrifying dreams. 'Find all those thoughts and memories that are keeping you awake. Gather them together in your mind. And push them away. Build a wall that only you can breach, and keep them behind it. Fill the front of your mind with what you want to see – the park, the meadow, the shops in Diagon Alley. Make it a place that can be your own; a place you feel safe. And let yourself be there, and only there, tonight. Nobody can take it from you, if it's in your mind alone. You must close your mind. Find peace.'

She had sat up with him, night after night, teaching him to control his thoughts and emotions until he could drift off to sleep. Severus found he had a knack for it. Moreover, he discovered it was much easier to live in that house – with that horrid man – if he boxed away his feelings. He learned in time to develop a perfect mask of indifference. Hogwarts helped, of course – getting out of that place for ten months of the year was a welcome respite for both his body and mind. Eileen hadn't called it Occlumency in the beginning. But as Severus grew older, she began to teach it to him more fully. It became an escape for both of them during the hours they were stuck together in Tobias' house. By the time he was sixteen, Severus had become a master at the art. And after that first night, Severus never let his father see him cry again.

There was only one other he'd ever allowed behind the wall he'd built for himself. And she, like his dear mother, was long dead now.

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Harry followed Dumbledore back from the Great Hall after dinner that evening in slight trepidation. The headmaster had decided that they would have their first Occlumency lesson tonight, and he wanted to do it right before bed. Harry was nervous, but a bit excited. He wondered what a lesson from the Headmaster of Hogwarts himself would be like.

As they entered the familiar office, Dumbledore gestured to Harry to take the seat in front of his desk. He himself walked around the desk, pulling out his own chair behind it. He seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts. Fawkes, seated on his golden perch in the corner, trilled a few notes as they settled in their chairs, and fluttered down to rest on Dumbledore's shoulder. The headmaster stroked the phoenix's head as he studied Harry across the desk.

'I feel that in order to help you understand the magic I intend to teach tonight, Harry, I must explain a little about the nature of magic itself,' the headmaster began, looking very seriously over his half-moon spectacles at Harry.

Harry nodded. 'Ok, sir,' he said, wondering what the headmaster meant.

'Occlumency,' the headmaster began, 'Is an ancient form of magic. The practice of Occlumency is a wandless magic, which is why it relies so heavily on mental control of one's own magical core. Some scholars have claimed that Occlumency predates the use of wands entirely, though we only know for certain that it was practised as early as medieval times. For many centuries it was a common study, and it was once taught as part of the curriculum at Hogwarts, to N.E.W.T. level students. Indeed, all four founders were purported to be accomplished occlumens, and the most common method of Occlumency currently practised in Europe is said to derive from the writings of Salazar Slytherin himself.' Dumbledore paused for a moment, as Harry looked confused.

'Salazar Slytherin, sir?' Harry asked, 'As in Slytherin house?'

Dumbledore looked surprised at him. 'Indeed. Salazar Slytherin was the founder of Slytherin House. Has nobody ever told you the story before?'

Harry shook his head. 'I know there were four founders, and that the four Houses are named for them,' he said, 'but I don't think I've ever heard any of their full names or histories before.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'Perhaps a short interlude then,' he said kindly. 'Hogwarts was founded over a thousand years ago, though the precise date has been the subject of much debate. The school was started by the four greatest witches and wizards of the time. Their names were Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Salazar Slytherin. You know, of course, the qualities that define the houses that now bear their surnames. Whilst they ran the school, the four founders used to hand-select their pupils, each teaching those students that demonstrated the qualities that founder prized. Gryffindor took those who showed bravery, daring or chivalry; Hufflepuff those who were kind, loyal and friendly; Ravenclaw those of wit and cleverness; and Slytherin those of cunning and ambition. Of course, many students possess qualities that would fit well in multiple houses, so these categories can be problematic. But, in keeping with tradition, we continue even today to sort each new class of students into the four houses based on these characteristics. Our Sorting Hat – which was once owned by Godric Gryffindor – was enchanted by the founders themselves to select the students for each house based on the founders' criteria, as a means to keep the system even after the founders were gone.'

Harry nodded again, and Dumbledore continued. 'For many years, the four founders ran the school together. Hogwarts quickly grew to become the most prestigious school of magic in Europe, and nearly every young witch or wizard in Britain was – and still is – educated at the castle. After a time, however, a schism on the running of the school began to develop between Slytherin and the other founders. An argument occurred between Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin, who until then had been the best of friends, and Slytherin decided to leave the school.

'Salazar Slytherin made a great deal of very important magical contributions, as did the other founders. In part because of his departure, however, the magics associated with Slytherin's legacy began in time to become associated with what we now call "dark magic." The term is decidedly ambiguous, and usually applied incorrectly. There are, of course, aspects of magic which are inherently evil in nature – _true_ dark magic, if you will. But much of the time, when we call something "dark," we are referring to the intent with which the magic was performed, rather than the magic itself. There is very little in magic which is truly good or evil – but almost any type of magic can be used to further either end.'

Harry, who had been paying rapt attention to the headmaster, broke in with a query as Dumbledore paused.

'But sir,' Harry said, 'If there isn't much dark magic, then why do we have a whole course on Defence?'

Dumbledore smiled. 'There are many reasons, Harry. Defence Against the Dark Arts teaches you to protect yourself – and others – from those incantations, creatures and magics that _are_ evil in nature, or else dangerous in some other way. But the subject is also supposed to teach you how to duel, which is probably the best way to learn how ordinary magic can be used with evil intent. The most important lesson for Defence is discerning how to recognise a danger and how to dispense with it. As I said, the magic itself need not be dark for the wizard to be considered so. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded once more. 'Yes, I think so, sir,' he said.

Dumbledore continued with his explanation. 'Occlumency is one of those fields which has, over time, become a largely misunderstood area of magic. It was removed from the Hogwarts curriculum in the late 16th century at the decision of the then-headmistress, Elizabeth Burke, and ever since has fallen into relative obscurity. Very few wizards are learned in the subject nowadays, so very few pupils ever study the art. The techniques of Occlumency are largely passed down within families, or else taught from mentor to apprentice. The Ministry of Magic does not approve of teaching Occlumency to school-age wizards, though they do not expressly forbid it and, in fact, encourage the study among trainees in some of the branches of magical law enforcement. Occlumency is _not_ a dark art – although it is true that many dark sorcerers have become adept at using Occlumency, as well as its counter, Legilimency, to advance their own agendas.'

'If Occlumency is not dark magic, sir,' Harry ventured, 'Why don't the Ministry wizards want us to learn it?'

'It is partially a product of the times, Harry,' Dumbledore explained, 'And partially a product of continued distrust. Occlumency was most widely used in the middle ages and Renaissance period. Throughout that time, wizards lived openly in many parts of Europe, alongside the Muggle communities. Although we have always retained something of our own world, many wizards did not seek to hide their magic from their Muggle neighbours and friends. Some even openly aided Muggle society, especially in medieval times. In the 16th and 17th centuries, however, wizards began to face increasing persecution from Muggles. Muggles, like wizards, often fear what they cannot understand or learn. Many witches and wizards were attacked, tortured, or even killed for their magic. Occlumency and Legilimency – they are often learned together – caused much of the persecution. Muggles laid claim that the witch or wizard was "bewitching their mind," or "reading their thoughts." In the period before the decision to enact the Statute of Secrecy of 1689, many wizarding schools stopped encouraging the practice of mind magics, in an attempt to protect their pupils from facing persecution for the art. The tradition continues, although the wizarding world has remained in the shadows for several centuries now.

'The Ministry of Magic also distrusts Occlumency, because an accomplished occlumens can present a problem if they break our laws. Occlumency will provide a protection for the mind, you see, and so it can be used to counteract many spells and potions which are designed to force a wizard to tell the truth, act on command, or reveal certain information. To become a sufficiently accomplished occlumens to do such a thing is both very difficult and very rare, but it remains a fear of the Ministry. Of course, these same qualities make Occlumency a significant advantage for officials in the law enforcement field, who might be exposed to such magics by an adversarial witch or wizard.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'I do apologise,' he said solicitously. 'I know it is a lot to process, and I do not expect you to remember everything I have told you tonight. But I do feel it is important to understand the magic, if you are going to be learning it.'

Harry's head was spinning with the influx information. He doubted he'd remember half of it, but he thought Occlumency sounded incredibly complicated.

'Are you sure I can learn it, sir?' he asked. 'It sounds like a very difficult branch of magic.'

Dumbledore nodded seriously. 'It is, Harry. And I do not want to discourage you, but you may be too young for it now. It is possible to learn Occlumency at a young age – if one has a natural affinity for it – but it is not a common talent. Natural affinity for Legilimency is a little more common, and Legilimency – as a result – is often an easier subject to teach. I may instruct you in it in a few years' time. The study of Occlumency was restricted, in the past, to the upper forms at Hogwarts because it requires a great deal of magical control. Most wizards are not capable of the necessary mental aspect until they are nearing magical maturity, around the age of seventeen.' Seeing Harry's despondent look, he smiled again. 'But do not worry. I am not expecting you to master true Occlumency now. I think the basics will be enough to help you with your nightmares. We can worry about strengthening your powers in Occlumency when you are a little older.'

Harry smiled back, somewhat reassured. 'What does it do sir – Occlumency?'

'In its most basic definition, Occlumency provides a defence for the mind from external forces,' said the headmaster. 'True Occlumency is about defending the mind from external penetration – from Legilimency.'

'Mind-reading, sir?' asked Harry, looking scared.

Dumbledore shrugged. 'In essence, although it is a crude definition. The actual art of Legilimency is a bit more complicated. A skilled legilimens can both pull information from and implant information into the mind of another. But we are not going to get that far, for the moment. Basic Occlumency is about controlling one's emotions and thoughts, and creating a shield within the mind: clearing the mind, for want of a better description.'

'And that's what you want me to do, sir?' Harry asked, trying to clarify the explanation.

'Yes, Harry,' Dumbledore agreed. 'Those are the techniques I wish us to work on.'

'Ok…' said Harry. He was still not quite comforted – Occlumency sounded immensely difficult already. 'What should I do, sir?'

Dumbledore rose from his seat behind the desk. 'I think, for tonight, we'll have the practical part of the lesson in your bedroom. I want you to focus on clearing your mind for sleep. Come and get ready for bed, and I'll show you.'

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Dumbledore waited for Harry to change into pyjamas and brush his teeth. When Harry re-entered the bedroom, the headmaster had turned down the bedclothes for him. He motioned for Harry to climb in and lie down. When Harry had settled, Dumbledore conjured a comfortable-looking violet chintz armchair, and settled into it.

'I want to finish my explanation on the nature of magic, before we try the techniques for Occlumency. I think it will help you understand what I am asking of you,' he said, smoothing the covers over Harry's chest as he spoke. 'You visited Ollivander's last year, did you not, Harry?'

'Yes, sir, with Hagrid. When he took me into Diagon Alley last summer. That's where I bought my wand.'

'Did you speak with Ollivander?' The headmaster asked. Harry nodded. 'And do you recall what he told you about wands?'

'Err –' Harry thought back on that strange conversation. 'He told me that the wand chooses the wizard. He said that no two wands were alike, because no two phoenixes, unicorns or dragons are alike, and the cores of wands come from them. And he said a wizard would never get quite as good a result if he used another person's wand.'

Dumbledore smiled. 'That is all correct. Now, do you know why it is that a wizard gets the best results with a wand that is his alone?'

Harry shrugged. 'Because the wand chooses the wizard?' he ventured.

'In some ways, yes.' Dumbledore agreed. 'Wand magic is very complex in and of itself. But a wand "chooses" a wizard by imprinting on its master's magical core. The process is complicated. The core of the wand and the core of the wizard must have mutually compatible magic, as usually will be the case with a purchased wand, or else the wand must wilfully bend its magic to suit that of the wizard, as happens with a used wand if it is conquered by another. Once a wand has imprinted on a master, it cannot be as successfully wielded by any other wizard. The reason is that – just as no two magical creatures are alike – so neither are any two wizard's magical cores exactly the same, even in the case of identical twins. Do you understand?'

'Er – I think so, sir,' said Harry, although he was quite confused. 'But, what has that to do with Occlumency?'

'A wand works to channel a wizard's magic. Although the connections between wand and master are always complex and unique, the use of a wand is, in essence, a magical equaliser. It allows for the instruction and use of magic in a more generic way – without the need for individualisation. Both individual wizards and individual wands may specialise in certain areas of magic where their talent is greatest, and thus spells or incantations may have slightly different results depending on the caster. But the incantations and wand-movements themselves are identical across wizard-kind. You cannot produce light, for example, with the incantation and wand movement associated with the levitation charm. You see?'

Harry nodded again, though he still wasn't sure where Dumbledore was going with this explanation.

'Wandless magic, on the other hand, is both more natural and much more difficult to teach. Magic is a part of who we are. Our talents can be honed and advanced, but our magical cores are an innate part of our being and cannot be suppressed. Wizard children, before they are schooled, perform wandless magic frequently. We often refer to it as "accidental magic," although there is usually little accident involved. "Emotional magic," or "innate magic," might be a more appropriate designation. Accidental magic typically shows itself when a witch or wizard is feeling powerful emotion, and nearly always has a specific intent behind it. For instance, summoning out of reach objects, animating toys, or multiplying food are often the first signs of magic in a young child. All of these actions tend to be demonstrative of a child's intent. In powerful bursts of accidental magic, or under conditions of great emotional stress, untrained wizards sometimes find that the intent and corresponding result are not necessarily what they expected – one of the reasons it is so important for young wizards to learn to control their powers.

'Even adolescent and adult wizards have been known to unleash occasional accidental magic, although it becomes less common as the wizard grows older. Training with a wand teaches the wizard to control his magic and provides an outlet for the magical core, which reduces the instances of random releases of magic common in childhood. But not all magical study revolves around the use of a wand. Potions, for instance, cannot be brewed by a Muggle, because the process involves tuning to the innate magic contained in a wizard's magical core, even though the wand is seldom used in the brewing process. Other unique talents – like Divination – are also examples of wandless ability. Wizards can master control of their magical core, which allows them to perform intentional magic without the use of a wand. Some are more adept than others. The aptitude to perform such magic depends on many factors – maturity, practise, mastery of one's own control, and – of course – the natural power of the witch or wizard: the strength of his or her magical core.

'Occlumency – like Potions – is a field of entirely wandless magic. As such, the ability to become a true occlumens depends on these same factors. It is a difficult art to learn, especially at your age, because it will require you to hone and utilise your innate magic without the aid of your wand. And, because each magical core is different, all wandless magics are highly individualised, and therefore difficult to teach in a uniform way. _You_ are the only person who will be able to discern how to connect with and use your innate magic. I can provide you with general guidance, but my own techniques may differ greatly from how you find you are able to tap into your magical core. It is a process every wizard must discover for himself. Do you understand that, Harry?'

Harry nodded again, though he was more confused than ever. 'I think so, sir.'

Dumbledore smiled at him. 'You will learn, Harry. I know it seems impossible right now, but I promise it will come, with time.' He leaned forward a little in his armchair, toward Harry. 'I want you to close your eyes now, Harry.'

Harry did, feeling nervous.

'Relax.' Dumbledore said soothingly. 'This part will not be difficult.' He placed a hand on Harry's head, smoothing back his hair. 'Now, I want you to think of a place that you feel safe and happy. Somewhere not too busy – a quiet place you can feel at peace, but see very clearly in your mind.'

Harry thought hard. Somewhere at Hogwarts, he reasoned, would be the only viable option. He hadn't ever been truly happy before he came to the school. He thought about the Great Hall during the opening feast, Ron and Hermione by his side… but no, Dumbledore had said somewhere quiet and not too busy. The Great Hall wouldn't suit for that. He thought instead about where he liked to spend time this summer – Dumbledore's office, Hagrid's hut, even the library… but perhaps not. All of those places evoked great happiness in Harry, but he felt he'd be most at peace out of doors. The quidditch pitch.

'Have you chosen a place?' Dumbledore asked quietly.

'Yes, sir. The pitch,' Harry answered, smiling a bit with his eyes closed.

'Very good, Harry,' Dumbledore said. 'Now, I want you to keep your focus on the quidditch pitch in your mind's eye. Tune out all your other thoughts and worries. See only the empty stands, the hoops, the grass. Feel the wind on your face, and your broom beneath you. Think about the joy you feel as you are flying. Keep only that image and those thoughts in your head.'

Harry did as he instructed. He felt that deep contentment that he always experienced when he was in the air – a pure joy that seemed to wrap him in its warmth, allowing him to leave his worries on the ground. For several minutes, or perhaps hours, Harry lay there and envisioned the pitch. Dumbledore was quite silent beside him, though he kept his hand on Harry's head, gently carding his hair as he relaxed.

'I am going to put a very light sleeping charm on you now, Harry,' Dumbledore said quietly in his ear, 'To help you drift off. Keep the image and feelings of the pitch in your mind.'

Harry murmured some reply, already half asleep. He felt, vaguely, a warm weight settle on his chest as Dumbledore put his other hand gently upon him. There was a murmured incantation, and Harry fell into a peaceful sleep.


	13. The Lessons and The Leaving

**A/N** : Hello again to all my wonderful readers! Thank you all for your fantastic reviews of the last chapter – I can't tell you how much it means. Before we embark on Chapter 13, I had a reviewer post a comment that I wanted to respond to… I've posted the reply in both Spanish and English below. It's rather long, so if you don't wish to read it, please go ahead and skip to the chapter. But this reader raised an interesting and complicated issue, so I felt I should address it properly.

 **Kendra Dhyanna** : Una vez hablé bien el español, pero ha habido varios años ... así que me disculpo por cualquier error. Voy a traducir esto en Inglés, para el beneficio de otros lectores. Entiendo su frustración con Dumbledore para su tratamiento de Severus. Estoy de acuerdo en que la lucha parece cruel en algunos aspectos. Sin embargo, creo que Dumbledore y Severus tienen una relación muy compleja. En cierto modo, Dumbledore es en gran medida una figura paterna para Snape - de una manera que el propio padre de Snape en realidad nunca fue. Él se preocupa mucho por él, a menudo le consuela, y es bastante tolerante con su temperamento y comportamiento. También, no tiene miedo de llevarlo a la tarea cuando sea necesario. Por otro lado, Albus es también el jefe de Severus - tanto en la escuela y en la guerra contra Voldemort. También ayudó a Snape, y lo salvó de la ruina. Ambos saben que Severus tiene una deuda de dicha protección. Creo que muy pocas cosas podrían conducir a Dumbledore en una verdadera rabia contra Snape - algo que Severus refleja en este capítulo. Uno de ellos, sin embargo, es Harry. Snape, en algún nivel, probablemente sabe que este tipo de reacción era una posibilidad ... Creo que se ha estado gestando un golpe hacia arriba sobre la residencia de Harry en la escuela desde que llegó. Creo que la actitud protectora de Harry también juega un papel en sus sentimientos complicados que Snape tiene hacia el chico. Hay un aspecto de los celos - porque Severus ve a Dumbledore como una influencia paternal ... él sabe que Dumbledore le gusta Harry y lo pondrá en primer lugar, y creo que no siempre se puede ver que 1) Albus se preocupa profundamente por Severus, así, y 2) no es culpa de Harry que Albus siente de esa manera. El hecho de que Dumbledore claramente estaba a favor de James Potter cuando estaban en la escuela también es una complicación, y se refleja en vista de Severus de esta nueva situación. Por supuesto, los aspectos de la personalidad de Harry, la infancia de Harry, e incluso oclumencia de Harry tienen sorprendentes paralelismos con Severus de - algunos de los cuales reconoce Snape, y algunos de (todavía) no lo reconoce. No quiero decir mucho más en la interacción aquí, ya que quiero explorar más a fondo en la historia ... pero, en esencia, creo que hay una gran cantidad de variación de emociones y tensiones en juego para los tres caracteres - Snape , Dumbledore, y Harry. Serán éstas finalmente disipar? O irán desvelando cosas? Espero que esto ayude un poco.

[English] Kendra Dhyanna: I once spoke Spanish well, but it has been several years… so I apologise for any mistakes. I will translate this into English as well for the benefit of other readers. I understand your frustration with Dumbledore as to his treatment of Severus. I agree that the fight seems cruel in some ways. However, I think that Dumbledore and Severus have a very complex relationship. In some ways, Dumbledore is very much a father-figure for Snape – in a way that Snape's own father never really was. He cares greatly for him, often comforts him, and is quite tolerant of his temper and behaviour. He is also unafraid to take him to task when necessary. On the other hand, Albus is also Severus's boss – both at the school and in the war against Voldemort. He also helped Snape, and saved him from ruin. They both know Severus owes him a debt for that protection. I think very few things could drive Dumbledore into a true rage against Snape – something that Severus reflects on in this chapter. One of them, however, is Harry. Snape, on some level, probably knows this sort of reaction was a possibility… I think he's been brewing toward a blow-up over Harry's residence at the school ever since he arrived. I think that protectiveness of Harry also plays into the already complicated feelings Snape has toward the boy. There is an aspect of jealousy there – because Severus does see Dumbledore as a fatherly influence… he knows Dumbledore loves Harry and will put him first, and I think he cannot always see that 1) Albus cares deeply for Severus as well, and 2) it is not Harry's fault that the headmaster feels that way. The fact that Dumbledore clearly favoured James Potter when they were in school also plays into things, and is reflected in Severus's view of this new situation. Of course, aspects of Harry's personality, Harry's childhood, and even Harry's occlumency bear striking parallels to Severus's – some of which Snape recognises, and some of which he (as yet) does not. I don't want to say too much more on the interplay here, as I want to explore it further in the story… but, essentially, I think there are a _lot_ of varying emotions and tensions at play here for all three characters – Snape, Dumbledore, and Harry. Will these eventually dissipate? Or will things unravel? I hope this helps a little.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 13: The Lessons and The Leaving**

The next few weeks at the castle passed quickly for Harry. The Occlumency lessons he had with Dumbledore, always before bed, had helped a great deal with the nightmares. Harry wasn't sure if this was because he was doing the exercises properly, or because Dumbledore's presence as he fell into sleep relaxed him enough that he was too peaceful for bad dreams. Perhaps a combination of the two. In any case, the nightly lessons had become routine, and Harry had had only three additional nightmares since they started. Strangely, none of the three had been about the end of term. All were visions of that dark forest – the place that Dumbledore had told him was called the accursed mountains. He never saw anything of note in the dreams, but they left him pale, frightened and a touch nauseated upon waking. Each of these nights, Dumbledore had come to him. He always asked Harry to describe what he could remember of the dream, then forced him to take a spoonful of the dreamless sleep potion before lying down again. Harry could tell these nightmares in particular worried the headmaster, but he never explained exactly why.

The additional lessons Dumbledore had scheduled for him started up the day after his first night of Occlumency. For the most part, Harry actually enjoyed the tutorials. McGonagall's sessions were much like his usual Transfiguration lessons, except he was the only student present. She spent the first two or three lessons reviewing some of the more challenging material from his first year, then started schooling him in the second year curriculum. Harry found he was more adept at Transfiguration in these one-on-one tutorials – outside the distracting presence of fifteen other students, all attempting to change a needle into a matchstick with increasingly disastrous results. McGonagall was pleased with his progress, and gave him an approving smile when he was able – on his first attempt – to successfully transfigure a newt into a candlestick during their sixth lesson.

'Your father was very gifted at Transfiguration too,' she told him, placing the candlestick on her mantle as he packed away his things. 'I expect you to keep up this level of commitment once term resumes.'

'Yes, ma'am.' Harry quickly agreed, beaming at her praise.

The Potions lessons, which Harry had been dreading, were not nearly as horrific as he'd anticipated. Snape mostly ignored Harry, setting out instructions and then turning to his own work. Occasionally, he looked up long enough to shout at Harry for dicing his caterpillars incorrectly or keeping his flame too high. For much of the lesson, however, Harry was allowed to brew in peace. Like in McGonagall's tutorials, he found Potions much easier without the distraction of a room full of people. Perhaps even more so than in Transfiguration, because at least in McGonagall's subject people were rarely attempting to cause him trouble on purpose. Malfoy's absence meant nobody was throwing things into his cauldron while he chopped his next ingredient, or prodding the heat to spoil the brew. Snape, once he had grudgingly admitted Harry seemed to have a grasp on the first year curriculum, also moved on to some more advanced potions after a few lessons. In spite of his personal feelings toward the Potions master, Harry found he rather enjoyed the quiet hours in the dungeons. Snape generally avoided creating an antagonistic environment – a change Harry found both odd and refreshing in equal measure. He suspected Dumbledore might have talked the professor down. Whatever the cause, Harry found that his time spent with the Potions master was far more amicable than his hours there during the school year had been.

'A moment, Potter,' Snape called one afternoon, as Harry was headed for the door after bottling his draught of hiccup-cure. Harry turned, puzzled. Snape beckoned him back toward the desk.

'Sir?'

'Sit, Potter,' Snape said, indicating the student desk in front of his own.

Harry sank into it with some trepidation, putting his bag between his knees. Snape considered him for a moment, then rose from his own seat, coming around the desk. Harry leaned back a bit in his chair, expecting some sort of tirade. He racked his brains for a cause… he'd thought the potion had looked correct, but perhaps he'd accidentally concocted some sort of poison?

But Snape merely leaned against the back edge of his desk, crossing his arms and peering down at Harry. Harry swallowed, staring back. Snape did not appear to be gearing up to unleash a storm of anger… but then, it was always hard to tell with the Potions master.

After a few seconds of the awkward silence, Snape reached down and pulled a tightly furled scroll of parchment from his desk. He held it out for Harry, who took it in a slightly shaking hand.

'Your summer essay,' Snape said in explanation.

'Oh… thanks, sir,' said Harry. He lifted the seal to glance over the work. To his astonishment, there were only two very small notations in the margins. He looked up at the professor in puzzlement. Snape was actually wearing what might almost be described as a smile. One corner of his mouth was certainly quirked upward, and not in the jeering way Harry had come to associate with his own imminent doom.

'This effort was far superior to anything else I have seen from you to date, Potter,' Snape said, his eyes boring into Harry's but the odd expression still in place. 'I do expect that _all_ of your work this year will be of a similar calibre.'

Harry nodded. 'Of course, sir,' he said, feeling a little proud of himself. 'I will do my best.'

'See that you do,' Snape replied, crossing his arms again. 'And note that I will be grading you with the knowledge that – unlike your classmates – you have enjoyed an opportunity both to continue honing your skills in Potions and to preview much of the second year syllabus over the summer holiday. Consider this your fair warning.'

'Yes, professor,' said Harry, the bubble bursting a bit in his chest. He scuffed the toes of his shoes against the ground, waiting for Snape to dismiss him. When he did not, Harry asked, 'Was there anything else, sir?'

Snape cocked his head a fraction to one side, seeming to debate the query. 'Perhaps,' he said after a moment. 'I wonder, Potter, how your Occlumency lessons are going?'

Harry was surprised. He hadn't thought about Dumbledore speaking to the other professors about their nightly lessons. McGonagall knew, of course, as she was sometimes in the headmaster's quarters when Harry went up to bed. But he hadn't spoken of the lessons to anyone else – or even to McGonagall, outside the sanctuary of Dumbledore's rooms. Harry wasn't sure exactly why, but the study of Occlumency somehow felt like a highly personal thing.

'Er – how did you know I was studying Occlumency?' he burst out. 'Sir?' he added quickly, as he met Snape's eye.

The professor raised an eyebrow at him. 'Did the headmaster not tell you that it was I who suggested he instruct you in the art?'

Harry shook his head, even more surprised. Dumbledore had certainly never mentioned Snape's involvement in the scheme. He hadn't even realised that anyone at Hogwarts, apart from Dumbledore, could _do_ Occlumency. McGonagall had heard of the magic before, but even she had studied very little of the subject.

'No, sir,' he said after a moment. 'I hadn't realised that.'

'Hmm…' Snape said, seeming to study Harry very intensely.

Looking deeply into the man's eyes, Harry was suddenly struck by a memory of Dumbledore's explanation of Occlumency and magical theory. He remembered that the headmaster had said Occlumency had a counter-magic… legitimacy? legilimenty?... that was like mind-reading. He'd also said they were often taught together. If Snape knew Occlumency – and Harry did not doubt that he was a master at it, if he'd brought it up with Dumbledore in the first place – there was a good bet that Snape could read minds, too.

 _Just perfect_.

Harry broke off the eye contact quickly, focusing instead on the wood of the desk. Then another thought occurred to him. 'Er – professor?' he asked, 'Why did you tell Professor Dumbledore to teach me Occlumency? Not that I don't like it, or anything, but it doesn't seem to be a usual magic to study.'

'I did not _tell_ Dumbledore to do anything, Potter,' Snape snapped, with a sudden return to his usual sarcastic tone. Harry was slightly comforted by the familiar footing, even while he fought the usual urge to wince at Snape's harsh tenor. 'I merely suggested it,' the Potions master corrected.

'Sorry, sir,' said Harry quickly. 'I meant, why did you suggest it?'

Snape walked around the desk again before answering, fussing with some papers on the surface. He didn't look at Harry when he finally spoke again. 'On the night you first fell ill, when I entered your room, it seemed you'd had a rather significant nightmare. I relayed this information to the headmaster upon his return to the school, as I was explaining the circumstances of the night. He mentioned that you had been suffering from night terrors of late.'

Harry reddened a bit, thinking of the many nights he'd woken screaming from sleep. He wished the headmaster had _not_ shared that particular issue with Snape.

'I can be hard on my students, Potter,' Snape continued, a little hesitantly, 'but I do not wish them harm. I teach a difficult and demanding subject, in which accidents or foolishness can easily turn fatal. Potions is not a discipline which can be approached with the joviality of someone like Professor Dumbledore, for example.'

Harry was not sure that Snape's distemper around him was really linked to his generally-average Potions skills. He'd certainly never lost an opportunity to belittle Harry in or out of the classroom, or even actively seek to get him into trouble. It seemed, to Harry, that Snape's vendetta against him was _highly_ personal. However, he was surprised that Snape had been the catalyst behind the Occlumency lessons… and he wanted to hear the professor's explanation too much to interrupt him and pursue the point.

'I brought up Occlumency with the headmaster as a potential solution, because although it is a difficult magic to master at a young age, it can be of help in combatting bad dreams.'

Harry nodded. 'Dumbledore explained that, sir. But… how did you know?'

Snape looked up at him for a moment, his eyes not quite angry, but certainly disapproving. 'I am a master occlumens myself, Potter. I know much about the art. And the study of Occlumency has helped… others… with similar problems.'

Harry knew that was all the explanation he would get, though it was hardly enough to satiate his curiosity. 'It has, sir,' he said, feeling he owed the Potions master an answer now. 'Helped – I mean. The Occlumency. I was waking up every night before we started. Now it's down to once a week or so.'

Snape nodded, looking satisfied. He began to fiddle with his paperwork again. 'Very well, Potter. You may go,' he said, dismissing Harry without glancing up.

Harry gathered his bag from the floor and made quickly for the door. As he grasped the handle to leave, however, he looked back. Snape was reading some document, his brow furrowed in concentration. Harry hesitated, but forced himself to say it before he lost his nerve.

'Sir?' he said, in a small voice. Snape looked up at him, eyebrow raised in a nonverbal invitation to continue.

'Thank you,' Harry said simply. He gave the professor a small but genuine smile, and hurried from the dungeon.

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Severus watched the boy go with an odd tightening in his chest, struck by how much of Lily there was in that smile.

But Lily was gone. And this child was Potter's.

Huffing in his more-practised annoyance, Severus returned to his work with a scowl.

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Dumbledore's Defence lessons were – as Harry had hoped – the most fascinating of all. Rather than teaching Harry in his own study, Dumbledore met with him in the Defence classroom, which was utterly transformed from the previous term. The student desks had been vanished, and the classroom floor covered with some sort of spongy surface. Harry learned quickly that the purpose of this material was to break one's fall. Except for the blackboard and teacher's desk, Dumbledore had vanished all the equipment and furniture in the room. The space was now perfect for duelling.

The headmaster might have been quite old, but Harry quickly realised he had never met a quicker, more agile, or higher skilled wizard. Dumbledore practised magic the way that Harry practised walking – it was so much a part of who he was, and he had been doing it for so long, that to perform the task was effortless. Just watching Dumbledore wield a wand made Harry feel both immensely protected and incredibly inadequate. He obviously had a _lot_ to learn.

Dumbledore had started with the basics. He taught Harry a simple shield charm – _protego_ – that would protect him from most minor spells and hexes. It wouldn't do much against advanced dark magic, but it was highly useful against commonplace wandwork. To his delight, Harry found he had a definite natural talent for Defence. The spell came quite easily to him and, after he'd mastered the incantation, Dumbledore showed him how to project the shield at different magnitudes of power.

'What are the benefits of this, sir?' Harry asked, as Dumbledore demonstrated the charm at varying expansions of space and depth. 'Will it protect against more difficult curses this way?'

Dumbledore vanished the shield, considering him. 'In some cases, yes, Harry,' he said. 'The more power you put behind this particular shield, the longer it will last without reinforcement and the more likely it will block a higher-level spell – although it will still not deter a N.E.W.T.-level hex or any of the illegal curses. That is the advantage of increasing the depth of the shield. Increasing the width, on the other hand, is a little more difficult but has far greater advantages.'

'What's that, professor?' Harry asked, curiously.

Dumbledore smiled. 'An expansive shield can protect others, apart from the caster, Harry.'

Harry grinned in reply, and emulated the headmaster's example nearly perfectly.

After shields, they moved on to the disarming spell – a highly useful charm that caused the opponent's wand (or any object they were holding, really) to fly out of their hand. Dumbledore showed Harry how to do the basic spell first, then how to perform it so that the opponent's wand flew not just away from his wand hand, but actually toward the caster of _expelliarmus_ , so that it wouldn't be retrievable. After disarming, they worked on offensive hexes; practising the leg-locker, body-bind, tongue-tying and impediment jinxes. Harry was surprised that the headmaster actually allowed him to practise the spells _on_ him, as long as he'd mastered the incantation and wand-movement first. McGonagall had been highly displeased when the headmaster had limped into dinner after a particularly forceful day on the impediment jinx that even the soft floor hadn't been able to completely parry.

'Have you gone mad, Albus?' she railed at him, shoving him none-too-gently into his usual seat at the table and pulling at his robes over his protests to reveal a swollen ankle. Harry felt highly embarrassed.

'I'm so sorry, Professor Dumbledore,' he said for the fifteenth time that night, his face a bright crimson.

' _You_ are not to blame, Harry,' McGonagall said quickly, before the headmaster could get a word in. 'This is entirely the _headmaster's_ poor judgment. Honestly, Albus, you could get badly hurt!'

'Nonsense, Minnie.' Dumbledore said in a placating voice. 'Harry has shown great skill over the past few weeks. And I could never be seriously injured – the spells we are working on are still at an early level, and I've taken precautions in the room.'

McGonagall scoffed, now prodding at the leg she'd propped up a little footstool. She noticed when he drew back a bit with a flinch. 'Precautions my foot, Albus! Ah, Severus,' she turned to face the Potions master, who'd just entered the hall and was now watching the conversation with a mixture of amusement and disapproval in his expression. 'Would you be so kind as to fetch an anti-inflammatory and a phial of pain reliever from your stores, please?'

Snape was not fool enough to argue. He gave a bow of his head, and swept from the table. Harry, still feeling awful, sank a bit lower in his chair, playing idly with his fork as he waited for the dinner to appear. Dumbledore reached a hand across the gap between them and took the utensil lightly from his worrying fingers, placing it back on the table. He squeezed Harry's now-empty hand.

'Stop feeling guilty, Harry,' he said with a smile, 'It was not your fault. You did very well today. And I am fine – you do not need to worry. In fact,' he turned to face McGonagall, who was still examining his ankle and looking highly miffed as she read a little piece of parchment. 'I can fix myself up quite easily.' Dumbledore drew his wand, but not quickly enough. McGonagall, clearly experienced at handling the headmaster, had her wand turned on him before his own had even cleared his pocket.

'Don't. You. Even. _Think_. About it,' she snarled, her voice more dangerous than Harry had ever heard. Dumbledore flinched again, although for the moment the Transfiguration professor was not manoeuvring his injured ankle. He meekly stowed his wand once more, looking a little put out.

'Why doesn't Professor McGonagall want you to fix it yourself, sir?' Harry asked him quietly.

'Because Minerva is being overpro –'

' _Because_ ,' McGonagall cut in, drowning the headmaster's sentence, 'It is highly dangerous to heal yourself, _especially_ before you've properly assessed the damage. It is sometimes necessary, of course, if there is no qualified healer or knowledgeable witch or wizard around to do the job and no time or ability to find one. But healing spells take a great deal of energy and power – both of which are often affected by the initial injury. And diagnostic charms do not work on oneself, so determining the extent of an injury can be difficult. So, apart from minor cuts or abrasions, it is always best to have another wizard fix an injury. Something both the headmaster and our Potions professor seem to struggle to grasp. Speaking of which…'

She gave Dumbledore a warning look before turning her wand toward the open floor of the room, speaking an incantation Harry had never heard before. A silver-white cat emerged from her wand, turning to face McGonagall.

'Skele-gro too,' she said briskly to the strange animal. It disappeared from the hall in a streak of silver, darting straight through the wall. Harry, staring at the cat, saw Dumbledore wince from the corner of his eye.

'Oh no, Minnie, that's really not –'

'I'll fix it with a charm, Albus. But you are not of an age for this sort of rough-housing. I insist you take a measure of skele-gro before bed tonight.'

Harry saw the headmaster scowl in reply, crossing his arms at her. If he hadn't been fighting his own guilt, Harry would have been highly amused by the interlude.

Snape appeared back in the hall a few minutes later, several potion phials glinting in his hands. He walked to the centre of the table and bent over Albus's leg to check for himself. Like McGonagall had, he poked at the injury briefly with his wand. A little piece of paper came floating out of the wand tip, and Harry realised that he and McGonagall must have performed diagnostic spells; the way that Snape had on Harry when he had been ill at the beginning of the summer. Snape snatched the parchment and scanned it briefly, eyebrows raising.

'You've done a number on yourself, old man,' he said, giving Dumbledore the same sort of glare that McGonagall had when they entered. 'What spell could you possibly have been working on that has left you with a fractured ankle?'

'Actually, Severus,' he said with a bit of a twinkle back in his eye, 'Harry and I were working on the impediment jinx today. Harry has become rather powerful with the spell.'

Snape shot Harry a swift, searching look. 'I see,' he said, still considering Harry, whose face felt like it was aflame. He turned after a moment, handing Dumbledore a phial of green liquid that Harry recognised as pain reliever. 'Take that directly, Albus, and Minerva can set the leg.'

Dumbledore pulled a face, but took the phial Snape held out. He knocked it back in one go, reaching immediately for his goblet of wine to wash out the taste. McGonagall snatched it away again with another reproving glare, handing the goblet to Snape and giving the headmaster a glass of the pumpkin juice instead.

'You're not to mix them, Albus! Especially in front of Harry,' she said sharply. Dumbledore sighed, but drank the juice without further complaint. Snape held out another phial, this one of the terrible orange potion he'd forced Harry to drink when he'd been ill.

'Anti-inflammatory too, headmaster,' he said. Dumbledore grimaced again, but obligingly took the potion, chasing it down with the juice. Minerva gave a short nod of satisfaction, and touched the tip of her wand to his ankle again.

' _Sanitatum ossa_ ,' she muttered, tapping the ankle once. A bluish light surrounded the headmaster's leg momentarily. When it faded, Harry could see that much of the swelling was gone. ' _Ferula_ ,' McGonagall said again, waving her wand through the air above Dumbledore's ankle. A stream of bandages appeared, wrapping themselves tightly around the limb.

'Ah, that's much better now. Thank you, Minerva, Severus,' Dumbledore said, tapping his chair with his own wand so that it floated closer to the edge of the table again as McGonagall rose. She insisted on propping the healed leg up on the footstool under the table, despite the headmaster's continued protests over her anxiety.

'The bandages stay on for the next 24 hours, Albus,' McGonagall said sternly as the headmaster clapped twice, making the dishes of food pop into place all along the table. 'And you are taking the skele-gro after dinner.'

'That's really not necessary, Minnie,' Albus said, waving a hand airily before choosing a drumstick. 'Your spell was more than adequate.'

'And the potion will be as well, Albus,' said Snape in his own firm tone from across the table. McGonagall nodded in approval. The headmaster looked between them in mock horror.

'The two of them, in perfect agreement!' he said in a stage whisper to Harry. 'If I had known all that was required was a tumble on my part, I'd have thrown myself down the grand staircase ten years ago!'

Harry giggled a bit in spite of himself. Snape rolled his eyes.

'Don't fill the boy's head with your nonsense, Albus,' McGonagall said sternly, piling carrots onto Harry's plate. But she gave him a small wink as well.

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'I wanted to talk with you about the week-end, Harry,' Dumbledore said as the dinner plates vanished and pudding appeared. Harry looked up. 'This week-end, I had intended to take you to the Weasleys for the last week of the summer holiday.'

'Oh!' said Harry, remembering. He was quite excited to see Ron again, and the rest of the Weasley family. But he hadn't really realised that the end of the holiday was upon them. He wanted to get back to normal school, and see his friends, but he would be sad to leave his summer at the castle behind. He'd be back at Hogwarts in a week, of course, but the circumstances would be much different.

Dumbledore surveyed him, understanding in his eyes. 'You do not have to go, of course, unless you wish to. You are always welcome here,' he said.

Harry smiled. 'Thank you, professor. But I told Ron I'd come, so I should probably go. And besides, I _would_ like to see the Weasleys' house and go to Diagon Alley with Ron and Hermione.'

Dumbledore nodded at him. 'Excellent,' he said. 'Then we shall aim to leave on Saturday, just after breakfast. The Weasleys will take you to the school train on the first of September, so we'll have you back quite soon.'

Harry nodded, picking at his treacle tart and feeling a little forlorn. 'What about my things, sir? Should I bring everything to the Weasleys with me?'

'Oh no,' Dumbledore said. 'Just bring whatever you need for the week, and leave extra space in the trunk for your new books. I understand your new Defence teacher, in particular, has assigned a hefty list.' The twinkle in his eye intensified, as if at some private joke. Harry couldn't help but direct his gaze fleetingly at Snape. He saw the Potions master stabbing his boiled potatoes with slightly more force than strictly necessary.

'You may leave everything else in your room,' Dumbledore continued. 'I will have the house-elves take your things to Gryffindor Tower at some point next week, and they will be waiting for you when you get back.'

'Ok,' said Harry. He continued to play with his pudding.

He wasn't sure exactly _why_ he felt the way he did about the end of this summer. Vaguely, he wondered if this half-excited, half-depressed state was how Ron or Hermione felt whenever they left their families for the start of a new term. He wondered if _this_ was what it felt like to be feeling homesick.

But that was just stupid. He wasn't even gone from Hogwarts yet. And even when he did go, it would only be to his best mate's house for the week. It wasn't like he was being sent back to the Dursleys. _And_ , he would be back and at school for ten whole months just after. It was silly to be this upset.

 _But_ , said the little voice in his head, _when you get back, it's back to the Tower with you_.

I love the Tower, Harry thought back at himself.

 _Maybe…_ the little voice said, vindictively, _but it isn't the same as having your own bedroom, in a place where someone is there to comfort you, and care for you. It isn't the same as having a family._

I've got Ron, and Neville, Dean, and Seamus. I have my friends, he thought desperately.

 _It isn't the same_.

No, Harry realised sadly. It isn't.

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Two days later, Dumbledore – fully healed and celebrating his freedom from McGonagall's fussing with his most lurid purple robes and a matching spangled hat – helped Harry pack a few things for his week at the Weasleys after breakfast. Harry suspected that the headmaster was having a little _too_ much fun selecting some items from their trip to Zonko's last month to 'gift' Fred and George during the week. Minerva was supervising the clothing selection, sending dark looks at Albus's choice in attire as she carefully folded outfits for Harry.

At last, Harry was as ready as he'd ever be. He closed the lid on his trunk and secured the lock, then glanced once around the room to be sure he'd not forgotten anything.

'You're sure it's alright if I leave the rest here, sir?' he asked the headmaster.

'Of course, Harry,' Dumbledore replied.

'And it's not a problem for Hedwig to stay up in the owlery until start of term?'

'Not in the least.'

Harry put his hands in his pockets, staring around the room one last time. 'Well then, I guess I'm ready to go, sir,' he said. 'I just –' he looked between Professor McGonagall and Professor Dumbledore, feeling a little choked up. 'I just want to say… thank you. Thank you both. For taking me from the Dursleys this summer, letting me stay here, and – you know – looking after me and everything. It's been really great. I've loved it. I mean –'

He broke off as Professor McGonagall pulled him into a fierce hug. He was astonished to hear her sniffling a bit as she clutched at him for several long moments. She dabbed at her eyes with a tartan handkerchief as she finally released him, keeping a hand on his shoulder.

'It has been a pleasure to have you here, Harry,' she said, patting him clumsily on the cheek. 'You are a remarkable young man. And you're welcome any time.'

Harry nodded at her, his eyes tearing up a little as well. 'Thank you, ma'am.' She bent over and pecked him lightly on the forehead, then swept from the room, still dabbing at her eyes.

Dumbledore moved toward him, and Harry flung himself around the old man's waist before he could rethink the momentary burst of emotion. He felt the headmaster's arms close around him in return, giving him a short squeeze.

'I really want to thank you, sir,' Harry said, speaking into Dumbledore's chest to hide his embarrassment. 'You did so much for me this summer. Between the lessons, and the nightmares – I know I haven't been easy.'

'My dear child,' Dumbledore said, stepping back from the embrace and placing a gentle finger until Harry's chin to guide his face upward until their eyes were locked. 'I would not have had it any other way. And I echo Minerva – it has been a pleasure to have you here this summer.' Seeing Harry's continued sadness, Dumbledore smiled at him. 'Cheer up, Harry. This week is going to be fun for you. And this is not the end of all things. You'll always have a place and a room here, whenever you want it.'

'You mean I can come back here, sir?' Harry asked in a small voice.

'Of course, child!' Dumbledore said, ruffling his hair lightly. 'This room is yours now, and my door is always open to you. I cannot say what the future will bring, as I myself am not a seer, but you may come whenever you like, even during the school year.'

Harry smiled, feeling that a huge weight had lifted from his heart. 'Thank you, sir.'

Dumbledore smiled back, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder as he straightened. 'Now that we've settled that, what say we head out? I am sure Molly Weasley has fixed a terrific lunch in anticipation of your arrival, and I would not want to deprive her of the opportunity to fatten you up any longer than strictly necessary.'


	14. The Burrow and The Alley

**A/N:** REALLY long chapter this time everyone. I thought about splitting it, but it seemed to fit best as one. I hope you enjoy. Thank you to all who read and reviewed for the past few chapters – I appreciate your comments and your support!

One other thing on the technical side – I have just noticed that in the 'public' version of this story, FanFiction's website seems to remove the additional line breaks and spaces that I put into the documents – usually to mark where the point of view changes or the end of a segment where there is a passage of time. I have tried to fix this in formatting on the site, but so far even if it shows on the backend it seems not to correct in the published version. So, from this chapter on, I am going to try inserting a line of 'X's' to mark these breaks (though the POV for this instalment is entirely Harry's). Hopefully, that denotation will keep. If it does, I will go back and edit the other chapters to include this formatting change at some point this week. I apologise in the interim if that formatting has made things difficult for readers until now.

Enjoy! – C.S.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 14: The Burrow and The Alley**

Dumbledore's prediction proved perfectly true. He had no sooner apparated Harry to the Weasley house than Molly Weasley swooped down upon him, hugging him tightly before holding him out at arm's length. She scrutinised him.

'I still think you're looking a bit thin, dear,' she said, sizing him up. 'You're sure he's been eating properly?' she added, giving Dumbledore a disapproving look.

Dumbledore nodded at her, smiling. 'Of course, Molly,' he said, his voice placating. 'Harry has been hale and healthy.'

'Hmm,' she said. 'Well, I'm nearly finished prepping luncheon, so we'll get some food into you soon. The boys have gone out back to de-gnome the garden. I can take you round to see them if you like, or you can come straight into the house if you're feeling tired.'

'Thank you, Mrs Weasley,' said Harry with a smile. 'I'll go see Ron, if that's alright.'

Mrs Weasley smiled back at him, patting his cheek. 'Of course, Harry dear,' she said. She turned to Dumbledore, 'Would you like to have some tea before leaving, headmaster?'

'Oh no, but thank you, Molly,' said Dumbledore with a bow of his head. 'I'd better get back to the school. We're expecting most of our professors back this afternoon, and I have to prepare for our start of term staff meeting this evening.'

She nodded, and Dumbledore turned to Harry. He placed a hand on his shoulder. 'I shall see you next week, Harry.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

He gave Dumbledore a small smile which the headmaster returned, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. 'Do try and have some fun, and keep well.'

He released Harry's shoulder, turning once more to Mrs Weasley. 'Molly, please be in touch if anything comes up, or if you need me for any reason.'

Mrs Weasley bowed her head toward him, her eyes twinkling a bit. 'Of course, Albus.'

Dumbledore nodded at the pair of them, and turned on the spot. He vanished without a sound.

Harry stared for a moment at the place Dumbledore had stood, lost in thought. Mrs Weasley put a hand on his back. 'Are you ready, Harry?' she asked him.

'Yes, ma'am,' Harry replied, forcing a smile back on his face and shutting his feelings about Dumbledore's departure firmly away for the moment. Mrs Weasley steered him up a little hill, toward the oddest building Harry had ever seen.

It looked rather like a former stone pigpen, to which walls and ceiling had been added, and then additional stories and outcroppings, by an exceptionally untrained architect. The entire structure – which was composed of mixed variations of stone and wood – was lopsided and as crooked as the wooden towers in the Muggle game, _Jenga_ , that Harry remembered playing in primary school. Harry thought the house must be held up by magic. A crooked sign in the front garden read 'The Burrow.'

Harry loved it immediately.

Mrs Weasley did not go into the house, but instead led Harry around to the back of the building. He could hear Ron, Fred and George's voices, carried back to them on the breeze as they rounded the corner. His friends came slowly into view, Ron and George watching Fred, who seemed to be swinging his arm around like he was preparing to lasso a bull. As Harry watched, Fred stopped his circling and flung his hand open as his arm shot forward. Harry saw something small fly in an arch from Fred's fingers, soaring over the back stone wall and out of sight. Ron whooped, holding his arms aloft in a cheer.

'George! Ron!' Mrs Weasley scolded, putting her hands on her hips as she and Harry came to a halt at the entrance of the back garden. 'You lot would get through the de-gnoming much more quickly if you two made a bit more effort yourselves, instead of watching your brother do it!'

Fred twinkled charmingly up at her as Ron and George bent hastily toward the ground. 'That's what I've been saying, Mum,' he said in an angelic tone, giving a little sigh of resignation. Mrs Weasley glared distrustfully at him as well, but any retort was cut off as Fred continued, winningly, 'Good to see you, Harry, mate.'

Ron and George turned immediately – both having dove for a clump of untidy bushes at their mother's remonstration without bothering to look up at her.

'Harry!' Ron exclaimed in excitement, scrambling to get to his feet and come to meet them. ''Bout time, mate,' he said, making to clap Harry on the back. His mother intercepted his arm at once, grabbing his wrist.

'You're far too filthy!' She protested, stopping him from touching Harry. 'Finish here, and you can come in and greet him properly. Harry, dear, why don't you come in now, and I'll get you settled.'

'Aw, Mum, why can't I have a break?' Ron complained. 'Fred and George can finish up here – we're almost finished anyway.'

Mrs Weasley looked stern. 'Absolutely _not_ ,' she said. 'It was all three of you I caught sneaking out to the garage last night, and it'll be all three of you that finish your chores before lunch, or nobody will be able to see Harry this afternoon.'

'I'll help,' said Harry quickly. 'I don't mind gardening. I did it all the time at the Dursleys.'

'Don't be silly, dear,' said Mrs Weasley, her tone softening immediately as she addressed Harry. 'You didn't have a hand in their foolishness. Come in and have something to drink.'

'We weren't going to _fly_ it, Mum,' said George, sounding shocked by the very idea. 'We only wanted to _look_ at it.' Mrs Weasley snorted in obvious disbelief.

'Really, Mrs Weasley, I don't mind helping out,' Harry insisted, shucking his carry-all. Mrs Weasley considered him a moment, but relented.

'Very well, Harry dear,' she said, taking the handle of the bag. 'I'll bring your things inside. But I warn you – it's dull work. Come in whenever you want, I'll have lunch finished.' She turned for the back door of the house, leaving the boys in the garden.

Ron led Harry over to Fred and George, who were bent in the bushes again.

'Er – what is it you're doing, anyway?' Harry asked, following Ron's lead and crouching down beside the bushes. The entirety of the Weasley garden was far different than the neat flowerbeds Aunt Petunia kept. While the Dursleys' garden had been rigidly organised and impeccably tidy, the Weasleys' was overflowing with fascinating plants in varying greens and states of bloom – many of which Harry thought were magical in nature. The beds were far from organised, but beautiful in their singularity. Harry much preferred this sort of garden.

'De-gnoming,' George answered, emerging from the bush with a wriggling creature in his hand. A few inches long, the creature was humanoid in build, but brown and wrinkly, with a potato-looking head. It was waving its tiny fists at George, who was holding it upside-down by the feet.

'What is _that_?' asked Harry, staring at the odd creature.

'A gnome.' Ron answered at once. 'They infest gardens – you know – and they eat the worms, which Mum doesn't like because she says worms are good for the soil. She has us de-gnome a few times a season, but they always come back. Dad's too soft with them. He thinks they're funny.'

Harry considered the creature. It didn't look anything like the statutes of garden gnomes he'd seen in Muggle gardens on Privet Drive.

'How do you de-gnome?' he asked curiously.

'You throw them out,' said Fred, as George began to spin the little gnome over his head, still holding it by the ankles. As Harry watched it squeal with an arrested look, Fred quickly continued. 'It doesn't hurt them, or anything. But you've got to make them nice and dizzy, so they can't find their way back to the gnome holes in the garden.'

As Harry continued to watch, George sent the gnome flying the same way Fred had. The creature sailed over the wall and out of sight.

Ron had grasped another of the gnomes, which Harry saw with surprise had now swarmed around them. 'They're not too bright,' Ron explained as he began to swing his prize. 'As soon as they know a de-gnoming is going on, they come out to watch. Bit stupid, but it makes it easier.' He sent the gnome flying and reached for another. 'Want to try it?'

Harry enjoyed the half-hour of de-gnoming, except for a small bite he received on his first attempt, when he'd felt badly and tried to simply drop the creature over the side of the wall. Sensing weakness, the gnome sunk its teeth into Harry's finger. He'd had to shake it off, in the process sending the little thing flying farther than any of the Weasleys had done so far.

The boys made their way into the house a short while later, and Ron led Harry into the kitchen. Mrs Weasley had laid the table for lunch, and Harry greeted Percy and Ginny. Ginny, who Harry did not know well, blushed furiously and did not return Harry's hello, turning her eyes instead to the table. In short order, the group was seated to eat. Arthur Weasley joined them from the front room, greeting Harry warmly and taking the seat beside him.

'This is delicious, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, over his plate of fish and chips. Mrs Weasley smiled at him.

'You are sweet,' she said. 'Have you brought your school list with you, Harry?' she asked. 'Arthur and I had schemed to take everyone to Diagon Alley on the 30th. Ron wrote Hermione, and I think she and her parents are intending to meet us at Gringotts so we can all do your shopping together.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Did you see the list for Defence?' Ron asked. 'All those Lockhart books… the new Defence teacher must be a fanatic.'

'Completely barmy,' Fred said, shaking his head. 'Bet it's a witch.'

'That's enough out of you,' Mrs Weasley snapped, as Ginny giggled a little.

'Mum _fancies_ Gilderoy Lockhart,' George said in a whisper to Harry. 'She never lets that book out of her sight.'

He nodded his head toward the counter, where Harry saw a thick tome was positioned. The front cover read: _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests_ in intricate script. Most of the cover was taken over by a large photo of a good-looking wizard, with wavy golden hair, blue eyes and a dazzlingly white smile. Most unfortunately, Mrs Weasley seemed to have caught George's remark. She bristled at once.

'Gilderoy Lockhart is a gifted wizard who is a credit to society. He's put his own life at risk countless times for the benefit of those who needed help.'

Ron tried to hide his snort by taking a great gulp of his juice. Mr Weasley was staring determinedly at his fork, as though fascinated. George rolled his eyes, and Fred said in a low tone, 'Yeah… or he's a great git with perfect hair.'

Mrs Weasley's eyes flashed, but Percy – surprisingly – diffused the situation, looking up for the first time from his own dish. 'Those books are fairly expensive,' he said, with a glance at his father. 'It's a shame we'll need so many sets between us.'

'And Ginny needs all the first year supplies and everything,' Fred added.

Mr and Mrs Weasley exchanged a slightly anxious look, but they smiled at the others. 'I'm sure we'll manage,' said Mr Weasley with forced confidence.

Harry turned to Ginny, who was seated across from him. 'You're starting at Hogwarts this year then?' he asked her with a smile. She nodded, her brown eyes flicking up very briefly to meet his, before she hastily took a large bite of fish. She choked a bit, and Mr Weasley pointed his wand at her.

' _Anapneo_ ,' he said calmly. Ginny was able to swallow.

Ron rolled his eyes and said in a low tone in Harry's ear, 'She never shuts up normally. You don't know how weird this is.'

Harry shrugged, turning his attention back to the food.

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Harry's week at the Burrow went by very quickly, but he enjoyed himself immensely. Hogwarts was a highly magical place, of course, but Harry had never been inside a wizarding home before. Unlike the Dursleys, the Weasleys' house burst with the unexpected and exciting. The mirrors talked back at you, if you stood in front of them too long or looked too dishevelled. Various owls fluttered in and out of the open windows at odd hours, bringing and taking post. Fred and George's room was the site of various explosive noises or puffs of coloured smoke – which the rest of the family took in stride and usually without comment. Several important Ministry wizards ducked their heads into the Weasleys' fireplace, bringing news or greetings for Arthur. Arthur himself came home from work daily with highly interesting stories and bits of wizarding news, which he usually shared with the family to roars of laughter at the dinner table. The ghoul – who apparently inhabited the attack above Ron's bedroom on the top floor, where Harry was staying – dropped various items and clanged the pipes when things got too quiet for his taste. Best of all, in Harry's opinion, was the carriage clock on the Weasley mantle. Instead of minute and hour hands, the clock had nine hands of varying lengths, each labelled with a member of the Weasley family. Instead of numbers, the points of the clock commented on the state or location of each family. There were places for 'home' and 'work' and 'school,' but there were also positions for 'hospital,' 'prison,' and, in the prime place where the number 12 would be on a regular clock, 'mortal peril.' Harry thought the clock suited Mrs Weasley, who – though incredibly kind – was constantly in a state of worry or anxiety over one thing or another.

Harry also found that everyone in the Weasley household seemed to genuinely like him – a first for Harry, in a family home at least. Ron, of course, was thrilled to have Harry to stay. They stayed up together late into the night in Ron's absurdly orange room (the place was littered with posters of the Chudley Cannons, Ron's Quidditch team, who wore orange uniforms), laughing at each other's stories from the summer, and scheming ways to prank Fred and George in the new school team. Fred and George often joined Harry and Ron for rounds of two-a-side quidditch in the little pasture behind the garden, or exploding snap after dinner. Percy kept to his own room most of the time, but was perfectly friendly to Harry at mealtimes. Ginny was shy and withdrawn, and generally kept her interactions with Harry to the barest of conversation, but she was sweet and kind as well. Mr Weasley liked Harry to sit next to him at the dinner table, so he could quiz him on life with Muggles and get Harry to explain the complexities of things like the postal system, bank holidays, British Muggle currency and Tesco. Mrs Weasley fussed over him in a way that put even McGonagall to shame, forcing third and fourth helpings on him at every meal and ironing his socks.

The Sunday next, Harry was surprised to find upon waking that they'd already reached 30 August. Today was the day they'd set to go to Diagon Alley. Harry was excited to see Hermione again, but a little nervous when Mr Weasley announced after the delicious breakfast of bacon sandwiches that they'd be travelling to the Leaky Cauldron by floo powder.

Mrs Weasley took a nearly-empty jar of the powder off the mantle over the hearth, offering it around. Harry took his own handful hesitantly. Ron, watching him, clapped a hand to his own forehead.

'Mum, Harry's never travelled by floo powder before! Sorry mate,' he said, turning to Harry, 'I forgot.'

Harry shrugged. 'It's alright.'

Molly Weasley looked puzzled. 'Really?' she asked Harry. 'But, how did you get into Diagon Alley last year, to buy your school things?'

'Hagrid took me,' Harry explained. 'We went by the Muggle underground.'

' _Really_?' Mr Weasley put in, looking fascinated. 'Can you tell me exactly how –'

'Not _now_ , Arthur.' Mrs Weasley cut him off, impatiently. 'Well, floo powder will be much quicker than Muggle travel, Harry, but if you've never done it before…' She trailed off, looking worried.

'I've seen it done before,' Harry put in quickly.

'He'll be fine, Mum,' said Fred, clapping Harry reassuringly on the back. 'Watch us first, Harry.'

Harry watched as Fred stepped to the fireplace. He threw the handful of powder into flames, climbing inside backward as the fire flared green. 'Diagon Alley!' Fred called. With a whoosh, he was pulled away up the chimney.

'You must be very clear when you state your destination,' Mrs Weasley said to Harry, as George followed Fred up the chimney. 'And try to be confident about it.'

'Don't get out too soon,' Mr Weasley warned, stepping across the hearth himself, 'Wait until you can see us.' He too vanished up the floo.

'Best to go now, dear, before Ron,' Mrs Weasley said, giving him a little push forward after Percy too had gone. 'Are you sure you're ok to travel alone? I could drop Ginny with Arthur and take you side-along if you want.'

Harry shook his head. He didn't want Ron to think he was chicken. 'Thanks Mrs Weasley, but I'll be alright.'

'Keep your elbows tucked in, or they'll get banged around a bit,' Ron said in a final piece of advice. Harry nodded, trying to keep it all straight as he walked nervously toward the fire. He turned back toward Ron, who gave him an encouraging nod and a smile.

Harry dropped the powder into the flames, as he'd seen Dumbledore do several times during his stay at Hogwarts. He stepped into the fireplace. What he hadn't anticipated, however, was the great gulp of ash he breathed in as he prepared to state his destination. The hot soot immediately irritated his throat, and he began coughing ferociously.

'D-d-ia-gon alley!' Harry gasped out through the fit, desperate not to lose the potency on his handful of floo powder. He knew immediately he'd done it wrong. The last thing he saw was Mrs Weasley's horrified face, before he zoomed away up the chimney.

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Turning and spinning through some odd sort of tunnel of ash, Harry caught glimpses of other hearths, and even snatches of conversation, as he travelled. He kept his elbows tight to his sides as Ron had warned him, and blinked ferociously to try and keep the soot out of his eyes. He was afraid to shut them entirely – scared he'd miss the exit if he did – but the constant spinning was starting to churn the bacon sandwiches in his stomach. He tried to hold his breath to avoid another mouthful of ash.

At last, the spinning slowed slightly, and he shot out of a grate. Though he welcomed the end of the ordeal, Harry had been a bit unprepared for the stop. He overbalanced immediately, toppling face first onto a flagstone floor. He felt his glasses slip from his nose and heard an ominous crack as they skittered across the stones. He barely managed to get his hands in front of him to save his face from the worst of the impact.

'Ugh,' he groaned, as he pushed himself to his knees. He reached for his glasses with one hand, wiping the worst of the soot from his face with the other. Locating an arm, he fumbled to put the spectacles on again. The right lens seemed alright, if a bit dusty, but the left was badly cracked and the frames seemed a little lopsided on his ears. His hands were also stinging a bit, and he still felt nauseated and dizzy from the journey. Looking down, Harry saw that he'd scraped his palms rather badly on the landing. Sighing, he struggled to his feet, glancing around the place where he'd come out.

It definitely was _not_ the Leaky Cauldron.

He appeared to be in the dimly lit main room of some sort of shop. The room was littered with display cases and rows of shelves, and a counter with a till stood against the opposite wall. The items for sale in this shop were unlike any Harry had ever seen before.

He could tell the shop was certainly wizard-run. One high bookcase held many phials and jars full of glistening potions, some of which seemed to be incubating a number of slimy creatures. To the right of that shelf was a glass case in which a withered human hand holding a candle stub rested on a dusty purple cushion, alongside a deck of playing cards whose case was smattered with dried blood and a glass eye that stared up at the ceiling. One wall displayed a variety of evil-looking masks, a collection of bones – most of them human in appearance – lay in a basket next to the old-fashioned till, and an assortment of iron, spiky, medieval torture devices hung from the ceiling above him. Everything in the shop seemed to exude darkness and danger. Harry could feel goose pimples rise on his arms. The very air in this place filled him with the same sense of dread he remembered from his dreams in the forest. It was an unpleasant revelation.

Harry moved a little away from the fireplace, trying to see out the windows alongside the door across the floor of the shop. He saw a dingy street lined with unfamiliar and dodgy-looking shops. There were a number of people darting furtively about, but he didn't see the lively chatter or bustling families common in the week before Hogwarts resumed. One thing was certain – wherever he was, he had not arrived in Diagon Alley.

Harry's unease heightened. He'd better get out of this place quickly, and try to find somebody who could direct him toward the Leaky Cauldron. He felt his pockets. He had a bit of wizard gold on him – leftover from his trip to Hogsmeade last month with Dumbledore and McGonagall. It wasn't much, but perhaps he'd be able to use it to barter transport, if he was very far from Diagon Alley. The Weasleys were probably going spare by now. Bruised, battered and still covered in a good portion of soot, Harry made as quickly for the door as he could, trying not to make too much noise as he crossed the shop. He hadn't seen a shopkeeper, but he didn't want to chance it. Barely halfway across the room, however, he came to a halt. Through the little pane on the door, he could see two people making to enter – a man and a young boy around his own age. Both were very blonde, and finely dressed. Harry didn't recognise the man, but a glance at the boy brought him quickly up short.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Harry glanced hurriedly around. Malfoy was the very last person he wanted to speak to right now, lost god knew where and looking like he'd been sweeping the chimney. His eyes came to rest on a large and intricately carved black cabinet set near the wall to his left. He sprinted for it, finding it mercifully empty and darting inside without delay. He pulled the doors shut, leaving a small gap so he could peer into the room. He'd barely finished when he heard the soft tinkle of the entry bell, and Malfoy preceded his companion into the shop.

The older man, Harry saw, had the same pale, pointed face and steel grey eyes. He even wore a similar expression to Malfoy – haughty, imposing and disdainful. This, Harry realised, must be Draco's father. He'd heard Ron speak about him… he'd said Malfoy Snr had been very close to Lord Voldemort before Voldemort's downfall. After the night Voldemort had disappeared – the night he tried to kill Harry – Mr Malfoy had been among those who had pleaded ignorance, saying he'd been bewitched to do Lord Voldemort's bidding. Harry knew he was rich and well-connected, and apparently he'd never been charged with anything. Ron reckoned he'd made up the excuse. If the man was anything like his son, Harry dreaded drawing his notice.

Mr Malfoy glanced about the shop, his eyes taking in the various items with seeming disinterest. He didn't give the cabinet consideration, to Harry's great relief. After a few moments, he crossed to the counter and pushed a long finger down on a little silver bell, which chimed through the room three times.

'Touch nothing,' he said to his son without turning. Draco Malfoy, who'd been reaching toward a case displaying several ominous looking daggers, scowled as he pulled his hand back.

'You said you were going to buy me a present today,' he complained.

'I said I would buy you a racing broom, as we spoke about earlier in the summer,' Mr Malfoy corrected in his cold voice. His focus was still on the door behind the counter. Harry could tell he was impatient.

'And what am I to do with a racing broom, if I'm not playing on the Slytherin team?' Malfoy whinged. 'Harry Potter has a Nimbus 2000 so he can play for Gryffindor. Special permission from Dumbledore last year, even though he was only a first year and he shouldn't have been allowed. He isn't even that good, but famous Harry Potter is Dumbledore's favourite… famous just for that stupid scar… the great Harry Potter with his scar and his broomstick and his dead parents –'

'You have mentioned this many times this summer,' Mr Malfoy said contemptuously. 'I would remind you that to speak so of the Boy Who Lived is not advisable, when most consider him the saviour who delivered them from the Dark Lord's reign. Hold your tongue, especially when we are out in – ah, Mr Borgin.' Mr Malfoy cut himself off, greeting an oily haired and slightly hunchbacked man who had come through the little door behind the counter. Harry assumed he was the shopkeeper.

'Good day, Mr Malfoy,' the man greeted back in an unctuous voice. 'How lovely to have you in. And this must be your son. A pleasure to meet you. How may I assist? We have been lucky to procure several –'

'I am not interested in purchasing anything today, Mr Borgin. I am here to sell,' cut in Mr Malfoy. The shopkeeper looked slightly less enthusiastic, but nodded his understanding. Mr Malfoy reached into an inside pocket of his robes, pulling out a sheaf of neatly rolled parchment. He untied it, spreading the parchment flat on the counter between them. 'You have heard, I am sure, that the Ministry has been conducting additional raids,' continued Mr Malfoy.

Mr Borgin looked up from his perusal of the list, and considered Mr Malfoy over the top of his pince-nez. 'Surely the Ministry would not extend its meddling to you, sir?'

Mr Malfoy sneered. 'As of yet, no. The Malfoy name still warrants a level of respect. But the Ministry becomes increasingly unpredictable. I have heard they are debating a new Muggle Protection Act, no doubt the concoction of that ignorant, Muggle-loving fool, Arthur Weasley.'

Harry's blood began to boil as he listened. He longed to try out one of his newly-learned jinxes on Mr Malfoy – somehow, causing him injury did not bring about the same feelings of guilt that jinxing the headmaster had left him with. But that sort of rash action would probably reveal his hiding place, and he doubted Mr Malfoy would care about the lack of a springy floor either in his retaliation.

'I have a certain number of… sensitive items in my possession I'd rather they not confiscate. You see, certain of these poisons could make it seem –'

'Of course, Mr Malfoy,' Mr Borgin replied, bending closer to the list. 'I am sure we can –'

'Father,' Draco interrupted in a whinge, 'Can't I have this?'

Mr Borgin's head shot up immediately, turning to where Draco was standing above the display case he'd been considering earlier. He was pointing at the shrivelled hand in the centre. 'The Hand of Glory!' the shopkeeper exclaimed. He abandoned the father and made for the son, a predatory gleam in his eye. 'You can insert any candle, and the hand gives light only to its holder. This artefact has been the best friend of thieves and plunderers for centuries! Your son has clearly inherited your own fine taste, sir.'

'I hope, Borgin,' said Mr Malfoy icily, 'That Draco will amount to more than a mere thief or plunderer.' Mr Borgin's eyes widened as he stammered a hasty apology. 'Though if his marks do not improve,' Mr Malfoy continued, with a quelling look for his son, 'That may indeed be all he is suited to.'

'It isn't _my_ fault, Father.' Draco whinged back. 'All the professors have their favourites. And that Granger girl –'

'I would have thought,' Mr Malfoy said, still staring coldly at his son, 'that to be bested by a child with no magical bloodlines in every examination would have shamed you, Draco.'

Hidden in his cabinet, Harry felt a surge of pride in Hermione's skill. Draco coloured under his father's remonstration.

'It's the same across the country,' Mr Borgin said in his obsequious tone. 'Blood status is counting for less and less.'

'Not with me,' said Mr Malfoy in a dangerously cold voice.

'No sir,' Mr Borgin agreed quickly, 'Nor with me, of course.' He gave a bow in Mr Malfoy's direction.

'Perhaps, Borgin, we might return to this list,' Mr Malfoy said abruptly, gesturing at the counter. 'I have business elsewhere today, and would prefer to move this along.'

Mr Borgin quickly bent over the parchment again, and the two men started to haggle. Harry kept a close eye on Draco, who was still perusing the items for sale in the shop. He saw the blond boy surreptitiously run his fingers over several of the glistening potions, then pause to read the card in front of an opulent opal necklace: _Do Not Touch! This Cursed Necklace Has Claimed the Lives of 19 Muggle Owners to Date_. Smirking in apparent amusement, he turned from the jewellery display and spied the cabinet. Harry backed a little away from the gap, heart hammering, hoping that Draco had not seen him watching. They were only feet from each other.

Draco moved forward, his arm outstretched –

'Agreed,' said Mr Malfoy from the other side of the shop, shaking Borgin's hand once across the counter. Draco turned at the sound of his father's voice, and Harry released his breath as Mr Malfoy called the boy to him.

'I'll expect you tomorrow at the manor, Mr Borgin. Good day.' He put a hand on Draco's shoulder, steering him out of the shop. Mr Borgin bowed his head as the Malfoys left, then raised it immediately as the door closed behind them, his eyes hard and his unctuous smile nowhere in sight.

'Good day yourself, _Mister_ Malfoy,' he said sarcastically. Harry stared. 'If the rumours prove true, you haven't sold me half of what you have hidden in that _manor_.'

He swept into the back room again, still wearing his look of distain. Harry stayed hidden in the cabinet for another minute or so, listening hard and watching to see if Borgin would re-emerge. When he did not, Harry cautiously pushed the doors open again. He stepped out into the main room, waited a beat, then – quickly and quietly as he could manage – he shot for the door of the shop.

Harry emerged into the street slightly breathless, and darted a few doors down before stopping to consider his surroundings, in case the bell sent Mr Borgin out to check. He had to keep a hold on his broken glasses, which were threatening to slip off his face again due to the bend in the frame. When he paused to look around, Harry saw that the street was just as dingy as his glimpse through the window had suggested. Every shop seemed to be devoted to the Dark Arts – or at least very dubious magic. The building he'd come from was labelled Borgin and Burke's. It looked like the largest and best-kep, in the street. Harry could see other storefronts displaying various nasty arrays of objects, including shrunken heads, mouldy-looking books with bloodstained covers, and even a large cage of oversized spiders. Several witches and wizards were wandering the street as well. Some – clearly shoppers – were darting into the to shop doors with shady glances. Others seemed to be peddling their own wares to the visitors. Harry saw several come to a halt, staring curiously at him. The attention made him feel more than wary. He flattened his fringe against his forehead and walked quickly up the street – trying to look as purposeful as he could in his direction, although he had no idea where he was headed to, and keeping his head down and eyes averted as he passed other shoppers. His only thought was that he ought to get out of this particular section of town before trying to navigate to Diagon Alley.

As he made his way down the cobblestones, a low-hanging sign informed him the street was called Knockturn Alley. Harry had never heard of Knockturn Alley. He guessed that his mangled attempt to say 'Diagon' had confused the magic of the floo.

He was pulled from his frantic thoughts as a dirty and long-fingered hand closed on his shoulder. Before he could feel more than startled, he was whipped about to face an aged woman. This particular woman looked like a witch… but not in the way that comforted him. This witch looked like the illustrations in Muggle fairy stories; like the one that ate children in _Hansel and Gretel_ , or the evil hag in _Snow White_. He could feel his heart in his throat as she leaned toward him.

'Lost, dearie?' she asked in a harsh whisper, making him cringe back. He noted the tray she was carrying – a peddler, it seemed. She held an assortment of what Harry recognised with a thrill of horror as _entire_ human fingernails… some still attached to the top segment of finger. Harry broke her hold as he stepped back quickly, terrified.

'No, thank you,' he stammered. 'I was just headed –'

'HARRY!' A wonderfully familiar voice shouted. Harry wheeled round. 'What d'yeh think yer doin' down Knockturn Alley?'

'Hagrid!' Harry breathed in relief, throwing himself toward the gamekeeper. Hagrid pulled him none too gently from the woman's clutches, the tail of his jacket sending the tray skittering from her hands. Harry could hear her furiously shrieking at them as Hagrid steered him firmly away.

'Thought yeh were stayin' with Molly and Arthur until Tuesday, Harry,' Hagrid said, stopping after they'd turned a corner and brushing firmly at Harry's hair and clothing. 'Yer covered in dust.'

'I am,' said Harry. 'Staying with the Weasleys – I mean. We were supposed to go to Diagon Alley together today. I got separated – bungled in the floo.'

Hagrid shook his head. 'Still, Harry. Dodgy place, Knockturn Alley. Wouldn' want nobody ter see yeh in there.'

Harry felt a little miffed. 'It wasn't my fault!' he protested. He was beginning to feel distinctly tired from the excitement of the morning. 'What were _you_ doing down there anyway, Hagrid, if it's such a dodgy place to be?'

' _I_ was buyin' flesh eatin' slug repellent,' Hagrid said indignantly. 'Only place ter get it, Knockturn Alley.'

Hagrid had steered Harry up a darkened stairway between two buildings, and across several smaller streets lined with what looked to be townhouses. As they turned a final corner, Harry recognised the imposing marble outline of Gringotts bank before him. Hagrid had led them straight into Diagon Alley.

'Harry! _There_ you are!'

Harry turned to see Hermione flying at him from down the street, her bushy brown hair whipping around her face. She threw herself at him as they met, and he nearly toppled over as her arms came around his neck.

'Hey, Hermione,' he said with a bit of a laugh as he disentangled himself.

'We've been waiting nearly half an hour. I thought you'd forgotten,' she said. 'But where's Ron, and the Weasleys? And what on earth have you done to your glasses? And… why are you covered in soot?' She sighed in exasperation as she finished her rapid fire questions, pulling the cracked lenses from his face and tapping them quickly with her wand.

' _Oculus reparo,_ ' she said, handing the repaired glasses back to him a moment later.

'Brilliant,' Harry said, putting them back on. 'Thanks, Hermione. Er – but aren't you worried about doing magic outside of school?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Not here. The trace on underage magic tracks spells based on their location – essentially, it alerts the Ministry whenever someone does magic around an underage wizard. I can't do it at home, of course, as I'm the only magical person in my house – the Ministry would know it was me. But that law's really just so underage wizards don't try using magic in front of Muggles who don't know about the wizarding world, or in places where there's no qualified witch or wizard to keep an eye on them if something goes wrong. In a place where there are overage wizards – especially somewhere like Hogwarts or Diagon Alley, where there are a _lot_ of wizards, the Ministry wouldn't be able to tell who'd performed the spell. So we should be alright. I read about it last year when we did the Statute of Secrecy legislation in History of Magic.'

She smiled at the dumbfounded, and slightly annoyed, look on Harry's face. Correctly interpreting his indignation, she continued, 'I haven't told Ron though. I think the Weasleys have tried to keep that bit of trivia from all their children while they're at home.' Harry grinned at her. He was about to comment when she frowned again.

'But, Harry, what happened –'

' _Harry_!'

Hermione was interrupted as Ron came up the street, followed closely by Mr Weasley, Fred, George, and Percy.

'There you are mate! Blimey – I thought we'd lost you to Spain or something. Mum was going spare.'

'We hoped you'd only gone a grate or two too far,' said Mr Weasley, panting slightly as he too joined the group. 'Where did you end up?'

'Knockturn Alley,' growled Hagrid in answer.

'Excellent!' the twins said together, clapping Harry in unison on each shoulder.

'Boys,' Mr Weasley started, as George began ringing Harry's hand in congratulations.

'Mum won't let us in,' Ron explained, as Fred took Harry's hand in turn with profuse exclamations of respect and Harry stared, bewildered.

'I ruddy well hope not!' Hagrid said darkly. Fred and George shot him looks of deepest disappointment, while Ron laughed. Hermione looked as though she were in agreement and opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment they were all distracted by the arrival of Mrs Weasley, tearing up the street looking frantic and towing a panting Ginny behind her by the hand.

'Oh Harry, dear!' Mrs Weasley gushed, pulling Harry into a fierce embrace. 'I was _so_ worried. Thank goodness you're alright. Arthur and I have been looking everywhere!' She held him out at arms' length, examining him critically.

'I'm fine, Mrs Weasley,' he insisted, as she began cupping his face and running her hands over his arms, searching for injury. She spotted the scraped palms.

'Hmm,' she tutted, examining his hands. 'Could do with a bit of healing up,' she said fussily, digging through her purse with her right hand as she kept hold of one of his wrists with her left. She pulled out a bottle of purple potion.

'I need to disinfect these first – you're covered in soot,' she explained, uncorking the bottle. 'It might sting for a moment.' She upturned the bottle and let three drops fall into his open hand. He held in his hiss as the potion bubbled a bit, cleaning the dirt from the scrapes. When the purple faded and the potion turned clear, Mrs Weasley tapped her wand on his hand.

' _Episkey!_ ' she said firmly. The cuts sealed immediately, new pink skin emerging.

'Thanks, Mrs Weasley,' Harry said, as she quickly sorted his other hand.

'Of course, dear,' she said. 'Any other injuries?'

Harry shook his head. Mrs Weasley gave him a distrustful look, but seemed to be satisfied for the moment. She popped the little bottle of potion back into her bag and pulled a large clothes brush out instead, beginning to work on the soot that Hagrid hadn't been able to beat away. Ron rolled his eyes at Harry in commiseration. Hermione, meanwhile, had been joined by two adults Harry thought were probably her parents. The man had Hermione's big brown eyes, and her mother the bushy hair and a similar look of clever capability.

'John Granger,' the man said, confirming Harry's suspicions as he shook hands with Mr Weasley. 'And this is my wife, Jean.' He indicated the woman next to him. Hermione quickly stepped in to introduce the group of wizards, and everyone exchanged handshakes and pleasantries.

'But, you're Muggles!' Mr Weasley said, his eyes dancing with excitement. 'We must have a drink after Gringotts.'

Mrs Weasley, meanwhile, had turned to Hagrid, thanking him profusely for his rescue of Harry. 'Honestly, Knockturn Alley!' she was saying, wringing his hand. 'I don't know _what_ I'd have told Albus… if you hadn't found him, Hagrid –'

Hermione put an arm around him. 'You really were lucky, Harry, you know. I've read about Knockturn Alley – it's supposed to be full of dark magic shops. You of all people wouldn't want to be recognised there.'

'Yeah, I gathered that, thanks,' said Harry, still feeling a little annoyed that everyone seemed to be acting as though he'd gone there on purpose.

'Where'd you come out down there, Harry?' Ron queried, as the party began to climb the stone steps into the bank.

'In a shop called Borgin and Burke's. And you'll never guess who I ran into there.'

'Who?' Hermione asked.

'Malfoy and his father,' said Harry.

'Lucius Malfoy?' Arthur Weasley put in, breaking off his excited diatribe on Muggle travel with the Grangers and spinning to face Harry from three steps up. 'Did he buy anything?'

Harry shook his head, catching the look of distrust in Mr Weasley's expression and remembering the scathing way Mr Malfoy had referred to Arthur. 'No. He said he was selling.'

Mr Weasley looked grimly satisfied. 'So he's worried,' he said with a nod. 'I'd just love to get Lucius Malfoy for something,' he added with relish. Fred and George grinned appreciatively behind him.

'Now don't you go picking a fight with Lucius Malfoy, Arthur,' scolded Mrs Weasley, coming up the stairs and grabbing Mr Weasley firmly by the elbow to get him climbing again. 'That family is nothing but trouble.'

'You don't think I can handle Lucius?' Arthur asked indignantly. Mrs Weasley did not answer, saved her need to reply by their arrival at the doors of the bank.

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Forty-five minutes later, the group exited Gringotts into the bright sunlight of the Alley once more. Hermione and her parents had exchanged their Muggle money at the counter in the lobby, while Harry and the Weasleys had gone down into the bowels of the bank with one of the goblins. Harry had felt a little awkward, seeing the meagre contents of the Weasley vault and then having his own inheritance on display as they stopped to fill his money bag. The Weasleys were such a kind family, and they'd been wonderful to him during his stay. He knew Ron was very touchy about the family's lack of fortune and, somehow, having the Weasleys see the sizable vault his parents had left them had felt gauche. Harry didn't say much after he re-entered the cart, until they'd exited into the street again.

Mr Weasley insisted on taking the Grangers back to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink. Fred and George wanted to break off to do their shopping, ostensibly because Ginny's first year list would slow them down… though Harry suspected that they'd rather Mrs Weasley not look over their shoulders as they procured their 'supplies' for the year. She let them go, with an admonishment to keep out of Knockturn Alley and a threat to put a toddler trailing compulsion charm on them if they disobeyed. Percy muttered vaguely about visiting a stationary store on the other end of the street, drifting off as well. After a bit of needling, Harry, Ron and Hermione convinced the adults to let them complete the majority of their shopping on their own. Mrs Weasley had been reluctant to let Harry out of her sight again ('Hagrid has probably already told Albus, Arthur. Do you really want to have to explain it to him if we lose Harry twice in one day?'), but her husband had talked her round.

'We'll meet in Flourish and Blotts in one hour,' Mrs Weasley said at last. 'And we can all get your books together. Do try and stay with the crowd, alright dears?'

They nodded in agreement, and Ron pulled the others away before Mrs Weasley could reconsider. Harry bought the trio ice-creams at Florian Fortescue's parlour, starving from his morning of excitement. They visited the apothecary to refill their potion kits, then ducked into the stationary store to stock up on new parchment and quills (Hermione considerably outdoing the boys with her own stack of supplies). Ron and Harry spent a few minutes in the quidditch shop ogling the new Nimbus model, before Hermione dragged them into a little second-hand book shop to look for some reference text she'd been wanting, where they ran into Percy, looking awkward and reading the back cover of a battered-looking novel. They collected Fred and George from Gambol and Japes Joke Shop, where everyone but Harry (who still had a good stock from the summer trip) and Hermione (who disapproved) purchased a number of items. The five of them then hurried to make Mrs Weasley's deadline at the book shop.

As they skittered to a halt outside Flourish and Blotts, they saw that a large banner had been erected under the shop sign.

 _Gilderoy Lockhart Book Signing_ , the banner proclaimed. A smaller parchment tacked to the window read,

'Gilderoy Lockhart, celebrated author and defence expert, will be signing copies of his autobiography, _Magical Me_ , today from 12:30 p.m. to 4:30 p.m.'

'Ooh!' squealed Hermione excitedly, pointing at the sign. 'We'll be able to actually _meet_ him! He's wonderful – and he's written almost the entire booklist!'

'Great!' Fred said in mock enthusiasm, his voice heavy with sarcasm. Hermione shot him an irritated look, already pulling Ron and Harry toward the queue. Harry saw that, apart from the smattering of Hogwarts-age students, the queue was made up mostly of witches around Mrs Weasley's age. A dishevelled shop employee was trying in vain to keep the witches in order as they clamoured to see over one another.

'Up here!' called a voice from three-quarters up the queue. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the twins pushed their way toward Mrs Weasley, who was standing with her husband, Ginny, and Hermione's confused-looking parents. She was dabbing at her face with a powder puff, watched darkly by Mr Weasley. She clamped the compact as they reached her, and stuffed it back into her handbag. 'We'll be able to see him in a moment,' she said in excitement, nodding her head toward the front of the crowd. Harry, Ron and Hermione each grabbed a copy of _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ from a nearby shelf and crammed themselves in beside the Weasley family.

After twenty minutes or so, the crowd moved slowly forward enough to show Gilderoy Lockhart. He looked exactly like the photo on the cover of Mrs Weasley's book, in Harry's opinion. All golden hair, ostentatious robes, and a dazzling smile. Harry tried to count the white teeth, wondering if he had more than the average human or if he simply had trained his lips to pull back far enough so that each and every one was one display. He'd reached 22 before he was shoved roughly into Ron from the side by a harried looking camera man. Ron caught him by the shoulder, pulling him straight again.

'Sorry mate,' he said to Ron, as the latter rubbed at his foot where Harry had accidentally tread on it.

'Stand back a mo' ' the photographer shouted as he angled the camera, 'This is for the _Daily Prophet_.'

'Who cares,' Ron said back, sounding bad-tempered. Gilderoy Lockhart looked up from the book he'd been signing, clearly hearing the interaction. His eyes rested on Ron for a moment, then slid sideways to land on Harry. He gave an overly dramatic sound of astonishment, rising to his feet so that the gleaming emerald robes he wore swirled around him.

'My word,' he said, striding around the desk. 'It's never – Harry Potter?' Heads turned up and down the queue, excited muttering breaking out. Harry felt himself go red.

The photographer looked between them for a moment with a calculating gleam in his eye, then pushed Harry roughly forward. Gilderoy Lockhart descended immediately, diving for Harry and pulling him toward the raised platform where he'd been signing books by the arm. He turned Harry around to face the crowded shop, throwing an arm around his shoulders and grasping his right hand as the camera flashed.

'Nice big smile, Harry!' he said with a good-natured wink. 'I expect this will be the front page – you and I, together.'

Harry felt his cheeks burn. He looked toward the Weasleys, who were all staring helplessly back at him. Ron gave him a grimace, while Fred and George mimed vomiting into Ginny's new cauldron. Molly Weasley was smiling, looking a little tearful. Arthur was frowning slightly and attempting to push his way through to the platform, but his path was blocked by several large witches, who snapped at him in Dundee accents as he tried to squeeze between them.

After several agonising moments, the flashing of the camera subsided. Lockhart released Harry's hand, and he tried to inch his way off the platform and back to the Weasleys. Lockhart, however, kept his arm firmly around Harry's shoulders, preventing his escape. He held up his other hand to silence the tittering crowd.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' he said in a ringing voice, once the crowd had fallen quiet. 'What a wonderful day this is! As fate would have it, I have been sitting on an exciting announcement for several weeks now, and I think Harry's arrival today presents the perfect opportunity to share the news with you all.'

He squeezed Harry's shoulder a bit again as he spoke. Harry wasn't sure if the gesture was to emphasise his words, or because Lockhart was ensuring Harry didn't sidle away off the stage.

'When young Harry and his friends entered Flourish and Blotts this afternoon,' Lockhart continued, 'They came thinking to purchase a copy of my new autobiography, _Magical Me_.' He pulled a book from the stack on the desk, holding it up for the crowd to see. The Lockhart on the front cover winked roguishly at them all. 'I shall present him a copy now, free of charge, of course.' The crowd applauded as Lockhart pressed the book into Harry's hands, and the photographer clicked madly again. 'Yes,' said Lockhart, his hand up to silence the group once more. 'But what Harry and his friends did _not_ realise is that they will soon be getting the _real_ Magical Me. I am excited to announce that this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!' Lockhart finished.

The crowd roared its approval, and Lockhart took several small bows, beaming and waving at the witches and wizards before him. Harry finally staggered from the stage twenty minutes later, his arms nearly shaking with the weight of the entire collection of Lockhart books that the man had insisted upon giving him (all signed) before he'd allowed him to step down, and black spots still dancing in his eyes from the constant flashing of the camera. He made his way wearily back to the group of Weasleys and tipped the tottering pile of books into Ginny's cauldron.

'You take these,' he said, arranging the dropped books a bit more neatly in the belly of the cauldron. 'I'll get my own set.' He made to turn toward the overflowing table of Lockhart books, but a noxious voice pulled him up short.

'Smarming up to the new professor already are you, Potter?' Draco Malfoy jeered, appearing from the crowd.

'Shove off, Malfoy,' said Ron, moving to stand beside Harry.

Malfoy sneered at the pair of them. 'But, of course,' said Malfoy in the same jeering tone. 'Famous Harry Potter can't even go into a bookshop without his posse of faithful sidekicks.' His gaze travelled over Ron, taking in Hermione, Ginny, Fred, and George as well. 'Has to make the front page everywhere he goes, doesn't he?'

'He didn't ask for that!' Ginny said hotly. Harry stared. He'd hardly heard Ginny speak at all in front of him since he arrived at the Burrow. But she was staring at Malfoy now with a glare that rivalled her mother's when she was riled.

'Bet you're surprised to see Harry here, aren't you, Malfoy?' Ron put in.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. 'Not as surprised as I am to see _you_ in a shop, Weasley. I suppose your family will have to do without supper for a month, to pay for all these.' He gestured at the stacks of books in Ron's and the twins' hands.

Ron dropped his into the cauldron as well, starting toward Malfoy with a furious look. Hermione rebalanced the pile in her own arms and flung one hand out to snatch the back of his jacket. Harry was rather impressed at her strength – those books had nearly caused him to keel over, and he'd been using both hands.

'Not fighting, I hope, boys?' Mr Weasley interrupted, as he strode over to join them. 'Fred, George, bring those books up to your mother at the counter, won't you?' he said to the twins. 'It's far too crowded in here.'

'Well, well, Arthur Weasley,' said a disdainful voice. Lucius Malfoy had glided over to the group. He put a hand on Draco's shoulder as he reached them, leering down at the children in exactly the same way.

'Lucius,' Mr Weasley acknowledged coldly, inclining his head infinitesimally at the blond wizard.

'Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,' Mr Malfoy continued. 'I do hope you're getting overtime pay for all these extra raids.' He leaned over, picking up an extremely battered copy of _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ from behind the glossy Lockhart books in Ginny's cauldron. 'Clearly not,' he said jeeringly, riffling the tattered pages. 'I wonder; whatever is the purpose of being a disgrace to the name of Wizard, if they don't even compensate you for it?'

Mr Weasley went beetroot red – whether from temper or embarrassment, or some combination, Harry wasn't sure.

'We have different ideas about what disgraces the name of Wizard, Lucius,' Mr Weasley said, sounding as though he'd maintained control of his voice with great difficulty.

'Obviously,' Mr Malfoy acknowledged, his gaze turning from the Weasleys to take in the Granger parents, who we standing behind Hermione and watching the scene, looking nervous. 'My goodness, Arthur, the company you keep these days… and I thought your family could fall no farther –'

There was a sudden clank of metal on wood as Mr Weasley pushed Ginny's cauldron roughly aside. It fell, scattering its load of books onto the ground, as Mr Weasley hurled himself at Lucius Malfoy. Mr Malfoy fell backward into one of the towering bookshelves, sending a cascade of heavy spellbooks down upon them all.

Fred and George whooped in excitement, cheering their father on. Mrs Granger pulled Hermione quickly out of the way of the toppling books, looking horrified, as Percy rescued Ginny from the line of fire. Mrs Weasley began shouting frantically, trying to call her husband to order. Harry and Ron set Ginny's cauldron upright again and followed the fight through wide eyes. Many of the shoppers had ceased their ogling of Lockhart to watch, and the cameraman was clicking away again as the shopkeeper tried in vain to end the scuffle.

'Break it up, gents, break it up there!'

Hagrid had come to the rescue again, parting the crowd easily as he stepped over the debris to pull the men apart, setting each on his feet roughly. Mr Weasley's lip was bloodied, and Mr Malfoy had a deep cut over one eyebrow. He snarled as he pulled himself from Hagrid's grip, adjusting his cloak and spitting his long blond hair out of his mouth. He was still holding Ginny's Transfiguration text.

'Here, girl,' he said, thrusting the book back into her arms. 'Take your book. It's the best your father can give you.' He beckoned to Draco, who was looking as stunned as any of the rest. The two Malfoys left the shop.

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'Honestly, Arthur, what _were_ you thinking?' Mrs Weasley said, continuing her tirade even five minutes later, as the group made their way toward the Leaky Cauldron.

They had completed their purchases as quickly as possible after helping the proprietor set the book shop back in order. He'd ushered them out with an air of being glad to see the back of them, though he'd allowed them to complete their shopping – probably because the massive Hagrid had stayed with them until they'd finished. He'd left the group as they exited the shop to complete a few additional errands in town before heading back to Hogwarts. Mrs Weasley had thanked him profusely once more, breaking off her constant stream of scolding her husband to offer her comments to Hagrid before he departed… but she'd gone right back to it once the gamekeeper strode out of sight.

' _What_ Gilderoy Lockhart must have thought at such a spectacle –' Minerva continued, looking murderous.

'He was really pleased,' Fred answered her. 'Didn't you see him when Hagrid had broken things up?'

'Yeah,' George agreed. 'Going on about the mad things people do when celebrities are around – said it was all publicity. He wanted that bloke to work it into the story for the _Prophet_.'

Mrs Weasley's face grew more sinister than ever. 'If _that_ makes the paper, Arthur –' she began.

'I know, Molly dear, I know.' Arthur said, holding up his hands in surrender. 'I'll make a call on it when we get home.'

Mrs Weasley continued the walk in huffy silence, still shooting dark glances at her husband every few feet. She ushered them all hastily into the Leaky Cauldron, where they said goodbye to the Grangers before lining up in front of the hearth. Harry took his pinch of floo powder with trepidation, though he told Mrs Weasley he felt alright to try it on his own again.

He definitely preferred to travel by broom.


	15. The Flying Ford Anglia

**A/N:** Another extra-long chapter… we're into a lot more canon in this one (and the last), as I wanted to include the key events that take place as Harry returns to Hogwarts, and show them from the perspectives of others besides Harry himself. Do try not to count on the chapters remaining this long in future, however… as with the last, I found there was no easy place to cut this one down. I may or may not get another up before week-end… the rest of this week is fairly jam-packed for me.

Enjoy!

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 15: The Flying Ford Anglia**

Two mornings later, the Weasley household was in a frenzy as everyone prepared to depart for Hogwarts. Mrs Weasley spent much of the morning darting up and down the stairs carrying stray socks from the laundry, misplaced quills she'd found in the drawing room, and various last minute reminders. Mr Weasley helped Harry and Ron haul their luggage out of the house, while Fred sat on George's trunk, trying to close the lid on it before their mother caught sight of the plethora of prank paraphernalia they'd so far managed to hide for two days. Ginny was quiet and subdued much of the morning. Having already packed her trunk into the car, she sat in a corner of the table with a cup of tea, scribbling madly in what looked like her diary. Harry returned from the front garden after loading Ron's trunk and his carry-all into the boot, wiping sweat from his brow. He heard Mrs Weasley shout from the stairs for everyone to get outside, or they were going to be late. Harry darted quickly to the basin, gulping down a hurried glass of water before hustling outside again.

He, Ron, Percy, Fred and George all fitted easily into the back seat. Mr and Mrs Weasley sat up front, with Ginny between them. Mrs Weasley looked around approvingly. 'I'd never have thought it was so roomy from the outside,' she said. 'I suppose Muggles do know a bit more than we credit them for.'

Mr Weasley gave Harry a wink in the mirror, and Harry looked away to hide his grin. Mr Weasley had admitted to him earlier that morning that he'd added undetectable extension charms to the interior of the car, so the family would be able to comfortably fit inside.

Without further ado, they pulled away from the Burrow. Harry felt a little bereft at the leaving – he'd loved his stay there, despite his early reservations. While he had missed Hogwarts, Dumbledore, McGonagall and even Hagrid (though he'd seen him briefly over the week-end), he also enjoyed the bustle and excitement of the Weasley household. It was a different sort of family home.

He'd barely had time to miss the Burrow, however, before they were back. Fred Weasley had forgotten a box of his wet-start fireworks.

Several minutes later, they returned once again for Ginny, who'd left her diary in the kitchen.

By the time they reached the motorway, they were running very late indeed. Mrs Weasley's lips were pursed so tightly Harry thought it was a miracle she hadn't split them open on her teeth. Mr Weasley shot a furtive look at his wife.

'Molly, dear, perhaps if we just –'

' _No,_ Arthur!' Mrs Weasley said firmly.

'But there's an invisibility booster – look – right here,' he indicated a small silver button on the fascia. 'I could initiate it, and we'd be up in the sky without anyone the wiser.'

'I said NO!' Mrs Weasley insisted, causing Ginny – seated between them – to wince as her mother bellowed right in her ear. Harry looked at Ron, confused.

'Dad's enchanted the car,' Ron said in a low voice, so his mother wouldn't hear. 'He's charmed it to turn invisible, and to fly. Fred and George have sneaked it out a few times, and I drove it once myself.'

Harry grinned. It was such a typical Arthur Weasley thing to do. Though Mr Weasley worked in the Mis-use of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry and – strictly speaking – ought to be enforcing the law against things exactly like this, he was mad about anything Muggle related. Harry had seen him tinkering with numerous Muggle objects in the big shed behind the Weasley house, taking them apart and 'improving' them as he built them back up again. He supposed Mr Weasley had done something like that with this car.

The family pulled into Kings Cross at seven minutes to eleven. They hurriedly unloaded the boot, while Mr Weasley ran for trolleys to haul their luggage. He pushed Ginny's ahead of him as Mrs Weasley led them all into the station, her eyes darting so quickly between her watch and the doors that Harry thought she was likely to go cross-eyed permanently.

'Quickly, quickly!' she hissed at the lot as they dashed through the crowded station, headed for the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Mrs Weasley glanced around to check that no Muggles were watching them, and waved Percy, Mr Weasley and the twins through the barier, still shooting panicked looks at her wristwatch.

'I'll go through with Ginny,' she said, taking the little girl's hand, 'And you two follow, straight away. You've only got three minutes.' She shot them a very stern look, and pulled Ginny through the barrier.

'Together?' Ron asked, looking over at Harry. Harry nodded. The two of them took the distance at a run, each pushing the trolley between them with one hand.

 _CRASH_.

They bounced backwards off the metal with a horrible jolt. Ron's trunk came flying off the trolley, which had tipped sideways from the impact and smacked the floor with an additional crash. Ron was sprawled on his back to the left of the trolley and Harry had gone flying over the side, crushing his ribcage painfully against the metal bar of the handle as he was flipped over to land awkwardly on the station floor. Wincing and clutching at his battered side, he pulled himself shakily to his feet.

'Oi – what are you two doing?' An angry station guard called, striding toward the boys. Harry looked up.

'Sorry,' he gasped, noting that it hurt rather badly to take in breath. 'Lost control of the trolley a bit.' The guard huffed suspiciously, but turned away to return to his post. Harry gave a sigh of relief. That hurt too.

'You alright?' he asked Ron shakily, reaching out a hand to pull his friend off the ground. Ron took it and stood unsteadily, rubbing at the back of his head.

'Yeah,' Ron said, sounding unconvincing. 'But blimey, Harry, what's up with the barrier?'

'Dunno,' said Harry, walking toward it. He pushed a bit against the metal, but the barrier was as unyielding and solid as if it had never been enchanted in the first place. They could not get through.

With a thrill of dread, Harry looked down at his watch. They only had ten seconds. Nine. Eight. He pushed desperately at the barrier, Ron scrambling to reload the trolley at his side. Three. Two. One…

Harry let his hand drop, looking stunned at the barrier. The Hogwarts Express had gone. Without them.

Ron looked over at Harry. His expression mirrored Harry's disbelief.

'It's gone,' Ron said. 'It's eleven. The train's gone.'

Harry gave a grim nod. 'What'll we do?' he asked Ron. 'Should we just wait here for your mum and dad?'

Ron looked nervous. People were starting to stare at them already, after their episode with the barrier. The guard who'd shouted at Harry was only a few platforms down, and he was casting dark glances their way every few seconds.

'I dunno…' he said. 'I think we should move away from here before someone comes and shouts again.'

'We could go wait by the car,' Harry suggested.

'Harry…' Ron said, his face brightening at once. 'That's it!'

'What's it?'

'The _car_!' Ron exclaimed, now looking excited. 'We could fly the car to Hogwarts. If we hurry, we'll be able to follow the train.'

Harry gave him a doubtful look. 'Can you even fly it?'

'Oh yeah,' said Ron, waving a careless hand. 'It's easy. I've done it before – once.'

'What about your parents?' Harry said, still feeling like he ought to stamp down on this scheme.

'They know how to apparate, don't they?' Ron said, his voice still full of excitement. 'They can just – you know – appear at the house. They only bother with the floo and the car and stuff like that because we're all underage and none of us can apparate yet, and you can't side-long apparate with more than one underage wizard at a time… and even then it's supposed to be pretty draining. They only do it in emergencies.' Ron looked eagerly at Harry. 'So, should we try it?'

'But won't your mum and dad wonder where we are?'

Ron shrugged. 'They probably think we've gone on the train – we were all so late already. And whatever is blocking us from getting through is probably also blocking the other side. The parents will have to sort that out before they can leave the platform – and that could take ages.'

Harry thought about it for a moment. He had to get back to Hogwarts, and they couldn't join the train. Moreover, it seemed like Mr and Mrs Weasley couldn't get back to them. They couldn't wait forever.

'Yeah, ok,' Harry said, with a jolt of his own enthusiasm. 'We'd better hurry, or the train will be too far away to find.'

They gathered their things without any more delay and hurried out of the station again, making their way quickly to the side street where Mr Weasley had parked the Ford Anglia. The boys loaded their trunks back into the boot (which Ron unlocked with a series of taps from his wand) and slid into the front seat. Ron fiddled with the mechanics of the seat for a moment, adjusting the distance for his much-shorter-than-Arthur legs. He gave a furtive glance around the street as he put his wand tip to the ignition.

'Check that nobody's watching,' he said to Harry, as he began tapping again. Harry kept a watch, but the street was deserted. The engine roared to life, and Ron gave a cheer.

'Better put the invisibility thing on, if you're going to fly,' Harry said. Ron pushed the silver button, and both they and the car around them vanished. Harry felt the car lurch forward as Ron stepped the accelerator, and they soared up into the air.

London became a series of colourful playhouses wrapped in a fine sheen of smog as they rose higher and higher above the city. As Ron levelled out the car, however, there was a small _pop!_ , and Harry, Ron, and the car flashed into visibility again.

'Uh oh,' said Ron darkly, prodding at the silver Invisibility Booster. 'I think it's faulty.'

Harry leaned over too, and both of them tried desperately to jam the button back into gear again. The car popped in and out of sight a few times, but refused to stay invisible. Finally, they gave up. Ron looked a little worried.

'Head up into the clouds,' Harry suggested, staring down at the city spread out below them. He _thought_ they were too high up for Muggle eyes, but he'd rather be safe than sorry. Ron angled the car upward again and they flew beyond the low-hanging cloud, emerging into the bright sunlight of a glorious heaven.

It would have been lovely, if they'd known where to go.

'Now what?' Harry asked Ron, looking uneasily around at the endless expanse of blue and white.

'We need to find the train to figure out which way to go,' Ron said, giving his watch a glance.

Harry looked down too. It was twelve minutes past eleven now. He didn't know exactly how fast the express travelled compared to a normal train – because he didn't know precisely where in Scotland Hogwarts was located. But he thought they might stand a chance of glimpsing the steam engine somewhere along the track, if they checked soon.

'Dip back below the clouds; slowly, and only for a moment,' he said to Ron.

Ron brought the car through the fluff of white cloud cover again. Harry strained his eyes to scan the ground, looking desperately for a flash of scarlet. With the skill of a natural seeker, he spotted it – snaking its way along the ground below, a little ahead of them.

'There!' he said, pointing at the train.

Ron glanced down at the path of the express, then at the compass on the fascia. 'It's heading due north, looks like,' he said, pulling the car up through the clouds again. He straightened out and double checked the compass to ensure he was on track. 'I reckon if we check every half hour or so, we'll be alright.'

He glanced at Harry, and the two of them began to laugh. For a few minutes they couldn't even speak as they giggled, Harry clutching his still-sore ribs, which protested the gaiety monstrously. Ron leaned across him to open the cubby box, from which he extracted a full bag of toffees. He ripped it open with his teeth, grabbing a sweet and throwing the bag on the seat between them.

For the first few hours, they chatted happily as they ate their way through the toffees – feet up on the fascia, car humming along through beautiful turrets of snowy cloud, the train (which they checked every thirty minutes) far beneath them and winding its way through increasingly more wild countryside.

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A few hours later, Harry felt the fun had rather faded. He and Ron were both incredibly thirsty from the toffees, but they had nothing to drink in the car. They were sweating from the hot sun baking through the windows all afternoon, but the air conditioning function did not seem to be working any more than the invisibility booster had. Worse yet, as the sun started to set, the engine began to whinge. Ron, who had just brought the car steady again after a check on the train, looked nervously over at Harry.

'It's probably just tired,' Ron said, uncertainly. Harry looked back at him in doubt. 'It's never been this far from the Burrow before,' Ron explained, still sounding nervous.

The pair of them tried mightily to ignore the increasingly loud protests from the car as they pressed forward toward the school. Without the sun, the evening grew chilly very fast. Harry pulled the jumper he'd shucked about 2:00 p.m. back on, now uncomfortably cold.

'Not far,' said Ron encouragingly, as he lowered the protesting motor back through the clouds for another look at the train. 'We must be nearly there, now,' he said – much more to the Ford Anglia than to Harry.

Harry squinted through the darkness. It had become much harder to spot the Hogwarts Express, now that they had entered the Scottish wild and the sun had gone. He started to try and look for familiar landmarks instead. They must be close to the castle.

'There!' he said excitedly, slapping Ron on the arm and pointing up ahead. Hogwarts stood on the hill in the distance, silhouetted on the dark horizon. Ron gave a whoop of delight, turning the wheel slightly to keep them dead on course.

But the car was starting to slow.

'Come on,' Ron encouraged it, stroking the fascia a bit, 'You can do it… we're nearly there…'

The engine whinged, the vehicle beginning to shake. Harry looked down in panic, they were flying directly over the lake now. His dreams of a beautiful touchdown in front of the castle shattering in his anxiety, Harry shot a terrified look at Ron. He stepped on the accelerator sharply.

With a sputter, the engine died completely.

'Oh no!' Ron cried, as the nose of the car began to dip. They were falling from the sky, aiming directly at the imposing stone wall of one of the castle's turrets. Ron jerked the wheel to the left as hard as he could, and they missed the crash by inches, soaring over the greenhouses and into the grounds.

'STOP! STOP!' cried Ron, who had pulled his wand from his pocket and was tapping the wheel and fascia sharply in desperation.

'Ron, the tree!' Harry shouted, seeing the large form of a gigantic willow growing closer in front of them. Ron looked up from his frantic tapping a beat too late.

With a deafening crash, the car collided with the tree's trunk, plummeting the last few feet to the earth. Harry felt his head hit the fascia with a sickening smack, as stars erupted in front of his eyes. His sore ribs were badly jolted from the impact. With a groan, he opened his eyes and pushed himself back into his seat.

'Ron, you alright?' he asked, trying to focus his vision on his friend. Ron gave a miserable groan. 'Ron?!'

'My _wand_!' Ron cried, holding the stick out toward Harry. 'Look at my wand!'

Harry did. The tip of Ron's wand had snapped nearly completely off, the white thread of unicorn hair the only thing connecting the segments. Ron was staring at the damage, looking devastated.

Harry was, admittedly, without real words of comfort. He was saved a need to comment, however, when something jarred his side of the car so forcefully that he was nearly thrown into Ron's lap.

'What the –'

A second blow crashed down on top of them, the roof caving toward their heads.

'The tree!' Ron gasped in horror. 'It's… it's hitting us back!'

And so it was.

Harry could see the massive willow bending and groaning in the wind, swinging its heavy branches viciously at the car, and them. One caught Ron full in the face through the broken window, slicing cuts across his cheek and above his eye.

'Reverse!' Harry cried in panic. To his amazement, the car responded. It came to life with a roar, tearing them backward away from the angry tree.

Ron let out a low breath. 'Thanks,' he said, patting the fascia gratefully. 'That was close,' he said to Harry.

But the car had clearly had enough. With a groan, the battered doors flung ajar, and Ron and Harry found themselves ejected harshly onto the ground. The boot flipped open as well, and their luggage soared into the air, rolling a bit as it hit the earth. With a huff from the exhaust pipe, the car slammed its doors shut again and spun around, heading off across the grounds.

'Come back!' Ron shouted desperately after it, talking a few paces in the car's wake. It was a fruitless attempt – the car had already crossed the crest of the hill, and soon disappeared into the forest beyond. 'Dad's going to kill me,' Ron moaned, turning back to Harry.

Harry pulled himself wearily from the ground, feeling as though every inch of him was likely to bruise. 'Come on,' he said wearily to Ron, grasping the handle of his carry-all. 'Let's get up to the castle.'

The boys dragged their luggage despondently up toward Hogwarts; tired, sore and quiet in the wake of their arrival. As they reached the castle wall, the great mullioned windows of the Great Hall came into view.

'Oh, look!' Ron said, perking up a bit as he approached the panes. 'It's the Sorting!'

Harry looked through the window too. Sure enough, he saw Professor McGonagall up at the front of the hall, placing the decrepit old hat onto the head of a terrified new student seated on the stool. He scanned the crowd of students, and the staff table.

'Wait a moment,' Harry said, eyes roving over the gathering of professors once more. 'That's odd. Snape's not there.'

Ron turned his head to scrutinise the staff table as well. 'You're right. Maybe he's ill?' He suggested, turning to look at Harry.

Harry frowned. He doubted Snape had ever taken sick leave in his life. 'Maybe,' he said uncertainly. 'Or maybe he's dealing with some sort of potions emergency – he was doing a lot of brewing this summer.'

'Maybe he's been sacked!' said Ron, looking excited. 'I mean, Dumbledore's got to know everyone but the Slytherins hate him –'

'Or maybe,' said a low, velvet voice directly behind them. Harry and Ron jumped. 'He's been sent to see why _you two_ didn't arrive on the Hogwarts Express.'

Harry gulped, turning slowly from the bushes to face Professor Snape. Ron spun as well, and Harry was sure his own face looked equally pale and terrified. He raised his eyes to Snape, whose own black gaze was glittering with what could have been enormous satisfaction or intense fury – Harry wasn't sure. Snape's sneer, however, told Harry that he and Ron were in _very_ deep trouble.

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Severus had enjoyed his Potter-free week immensely, though having dinner in the Great Hall without the boy had been rather shocking in its difference. He supposed he had just got used to the brat's presence – not that the lack of doting solicitousness from Albus and Minerva was an unwelcome change. He finished up the brewing for the hospital wing, and sent the results from his Wolfsbane project into the European Society of Potioneers for peer review – satisfied that he'd made significant progress on his alternative variant.

The other professors had trickled into the castle on the Saturday that Potter departed. Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout arrived in time for lunch – Filius regaling them all over the meal with photographs of his newest grandson (who, Severus was surprised to see in his brief glance at the photo, seemed completely normal-sized… for a squalling, red-faced infant, anyway), and Pomona happily catching Minerva up on her news from her holiday in Wales.

Dumbledore held the usual start of term staff meeting that evening, which really – after a few short notices – was not much more than an excuse for a bit of merriment before the professors were pulled in various directions in their haste to prepare for the students and start of lessons. Severus spent most of the night nursing a glass of Firewhisky and avoiding Professor Trelawney, who, having had several glasses of mead (and, Severus suspected, a good deal of pre-party wine), seemed determine to keep his ear. He found refuge in a corner with Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor, and Aurora Sinistra, who taught Astronomy, passing the time until he could reasonably leave the gathering without being labelled too unsociable.

The Sunday before start of term, Severus took tea with the headmaster in his study before dinner, discussing a few necessary changes to his teaching schedule and catching up a bit. They had just embarked on their second cup when there was a knock at the door.

'Enter,' the headmaster called. Hagrid sidled into the room, stooping a bit to fit through the doorframe.

'Ah, good evening, Hagrid,' Albus said, greeting the massive gamekeeper.

'Evenin' Professor Dumbledore, sir, Professor Snape,' Hagrid said, nodding his great bearded head in Severus's direction as well. Severus inclined his own head a bit in reply.

'What brings you here, Hagrid? Or would you like to join us for tea?' the headmaster asked politely, gesturing to the set on the table.

'O no, tha's alright, sir.' said Hagrid hastily, 'I got ter go back down ter me hut in a mo' – set tha slug repellent round the vegetable patch. But I thought yeh ought to know, sir, tha I ran into Harry an' the Weasleys in London terday.'

Albus nodded a bit. 'Yes,' he said, 'I know Molly and Arthur intended to take the children shopping in Diagon Alley for their school things this morning.' He smiled up at Hagrid, but his expression turned curious as he noted Hagrid's look of concern. 'Did something happen in town, Hagrid?'

Hagrid looked a little nervous. 'Well, yeh know I was plannin' ter go down into Knockturn Alley – ter pick up tha' slug repellent,' he started. The headmaster nodded. 'I sorta ran inter Harry there – in the street.'

'You _what_?' Severus cut in before the headmaster could respond, shock and irritation fighting equally in his reaction. He turned to Albus. 'You allowed Molly and Arthur Weasley to take _Harry Potter_ for a stroll down Knockturn Alley? I can't think of an easier way to get him kidnapped, or killed,' he said, incredulous.

'Of course not, Severus,' the headmaster replied. 'This is the first I've heard of it.'

'He weren' with the Weasleys, professors,' Hagrid put in. 'He was by himself, just come out o' one of them shops.'

Severus scoffed. 'He ran off then – typical Potter. Had to find himself some adventure.'

Dumbledore shot him a warning look, and turned to Hagrid again. 'Why was he alone, Hagrid?'

Hagrid shrugged. 'Not exactly sure o' the details, but Harry said he'd got lost in the floo. Covered in soot and dirt he was when I got 'im, with his glasses bent up an' his hands all bloodied.'

Albus looked alarmed. 'Is Harry alright?' he asked quickly in concern.

Severus refrained his eye-roll with less difficulty than he would have expected, finding he too was a little anxious about the fate of the Golden Boy. But only, of course, because Knockturn Alley was the notorious home of the very dregs of magical London. To lose their supposed saviour because of a fireplace mishap seemed rather anti-climactic.

Hagrid nodded his bushy head in reply to the headmaster. 'Yeh, he's alrigh',' he said. 'I got 'im out of Knockturn Alley, an' we ran inter the others as we was comin' toward Gringotts. Molly was in a righ' state. She fixed up his hands, but he weren' hurt nowhere else. Just a lit'le shaken an' bruised, I think.'

Severus frowned. 'It was foolish of the Weasleys to send a boy with no experience through the floo on his own. Things might have ended much less neatly. Of course, isn't it just like Potter to be lucky enough to run into you, Hagrid, just at the dire moment.'

Albus smiled a little in spite of himself. 'Harry does seem to have uncannily good fortune at times of great peril,' he acknowledged. 'Though I would much prefer he not end up in such situations in the first place. I am sure, however, that Molly and Arthur did not anticipate that floo travel would create such a problem. Children – even children less likely to attract trouble than poor Harry – do get themselves into predicaments on occasion, if only accidentally. I am very glad you found him, Hagrid. It was lucky you chose to run your errands today. I would not like to think what trouble might have arisen if Harry had been left on his own in Knockturn Alley too long.' He nodded his gratitude to the gamekeeper.

Severus really did roll his eyes this time. He doubted _any_ other child would have managed to confuse the floo into dropping him at Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley. The quandary had Potter's disastrous signature all over it.

'Thank you for sharing this with me, Hagrid,' the headmaster was saying. 'Was there anything else?'

'O, yeah,' said Hagrid, apparently remembering. 'There was a spo' o' bother at Flourish and Blotts too…'

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Barely two days later, as Severus was taking an early lunch with Albus and Minerva – in Albus's quarters, as most of the other professors were busy setting up their classrooms and offices, and the house-elves were remodelling the Great Hall in its usual set up for the start of term – the trio was interrupted by the flare of the floo and Molly Weasley's frantic voice.

Severus should have known it was too much to ask that his final few hours of freedom not be marred by Potter's foolishness.

'Albus!' Molly shouted, her voice full of panic as she glanced around the sitting room. Albus dropped his fork and knife onto his plate immediately, pushing back from the little table he'd conjured and going over to kneel in front of the hearth. Severus and Minerva glanced at each other across the table in confusion, then hurried to follow the headmaster.

' – only just got back through. It took nearly an hour to take down the charm,' Molly Weasley was saying, as Severus and Minerva joined the headmaster in front of the flames. 'I wasn't sure at first, but now I don't think Ron and Harry ever got onto the train… the car's been moved – we can't find it anywhere. I'm afraid the boys might have been stuck behind the barrier and taken it. Arthur's been going on about some Muggle thing – recovery something or other – but he can't find a way to check…'

'You think two twelve-year-olds have decided to _drive_ to Hogwarts?' Severus asked, incredulous. Potter was notoriously reckless with his own life, but even Severus doubted he'd flout both wizard _and_ Muggle law to such an absurd degree.

Molly Weasley looked a little chagrined. 'Not exactly, no,' she said, looking from the Potions master to Albus.

'What do you mean, Molly?' the headmaster asked.

Molly looked suddenly very stern. 'Arthur's enchanted the car, you see. I _told_ him it'd be nothing but trouble, but he never –'

'Enchanted it how, exactly?' Minerva cut across her.

Molly Weasley looked anxiously around at the three in the room. 'It can fly.'

Severus swore audibly. Albus closed his eyes in resignation. Minerva pursed her lips, her eyes flashing. None of them bothered to confer over the likelihood that the boys had actually taken the motor.

It was just too _classic_ Potter.

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Several hours later, Severus was pacing his dungeon quarters, fuming. He could not _believe_ Potter had been so incredibly foolish. Molly and Arthur Weasley were in a state of panic, still trying to find out if the car was somewhere in London. Albus, who was more worried and tense than Severus had ever seen him over the boys' disappearance, had contacted the driver of the Express immediately. The driver had returned word that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were not in any of the train compartments and, to his knowledge, had never boarded at Kings Cross. While this seemed to confirm what they had all guessed, it only increased the headmaster's unease. Minerva, meanwhile, was alternating between bouts of anxiety spent staring into the study hearth, waiting for news, and furious tirades about what she would do to the children when (or if) they reached the castle. Privately, Severus felt Minerva was likely to go soft on them if they showed up in one piece. He was much more inclined to suggest Albus call Molly Weasley to the castle to deal with them, or – better yet – that Dumbledore expel them both outright.

Unable to take the tension (or the nauseating concern) any longer, Severus excused himself to the dungeons, citing the need to see to it that the Slytherin dormitories had been properly prepared. Minerva, on the other hand, delegated her usual pre-term obligations distractedly to a confused and oblivious Professor Burbage, preferring to stew with Albus until the boys arrived or they were called down to the feast.

A little after six, Severus's endless pacing and internal ranting was interrupted by the appearance of a house-elf, carrying a copy of the _Evening Prophet_. Severus usually had the elves deliver any evening post, as there were no windows for delivery owls to utilise down in the dungeons. He took the newspaper from the elf with a word of thanks, flipping it carelessly toward his desk as the elf popped away again.

He missed. The _Prophet_ hit the edge of the wood and slipped to the ground, falling open as it landed on the floor. Severus growled and stooped to retrieve it. He stopped short with his hand outstretched, seeing the front headline for the first time:

 _Flying Ford Anglia Mystifies Muggles!_

His vision reddening in his fury, Severus snatched the paper off the ground, scanning the article quickly. He snarled as he tore from the office, _Prophet_ in hand.

'They were seen!' he spat several minutes later, striding into the headmaster's study without invitation and slamming the _Evening Prophet_ onto the table in front of Minerva and Albus. Minerva bent quickly to take up the paper, while Albus looked up at Severus, his face – astoundingly – brightening.

'But this is excellent news, Severus!' he said excitedly.

Severus stared at the headmaster incredulously, his shock and anger mounting so quickly it rendered him speechless for a moment.

'Headmaster!' Severus practically bellowed, his voice returned to him. 'You cannot be _serious_! The brats were seen by six or seven people in total! They have not been identified, nor as the car, of yet, as all the witnesses were Muggles. But _that_ is only a matter of time. And it does not change the fact that they have flouted the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage –'

'Yes, Severus,' the headmaster interrupted. 'And I am very disappointed in both children. But this article is welcome news. It means they are safe – for the moment.'

Still angry at the lack of indignation from the headmaster, Severus attacked on a new front. 'Perhaps,' he acknowledged. 'But flying enchantments on such large objects are temperamental. The car is not likely to last more than a few hours in the air, without recharging its energies on the ground.'

'Perfectly true, for the most part,' Minerva acknowledged. 'But look here.' She held the paper out for Albus, indicating a point about two-thirds of the way through the article. 'The last sighting the _Prophet_ reports was in Peebles – just over the Scottish border. So they can't have been travelling that far behind the train. If they'd made it that far – they didn't have too much farther left to journey.' She too looked distinctly heartened by the news. Severus felt disgusted.

Albus glanced at the time. 'It's coming on seven,' he said, looking at the grandfather clock. 'We'd better head down to the hall, Minerva, or we'll be missed. The rest of the students will be arriving shortly.' He stood from the sofa, offering Minerva a hand as she rose as well.

'Coming, Severus?' the headmaster asked. Severus hesitated.

'And what of the two reprobates, headmaster?' he asked. 'Shall we assume they'll make their grand entrance halfway through pudding?'

Albus frowned at him. 'I was going to suggest that Minerva see to the first years, then wait for Harry and Ron to arrive. But perhaps it would be more prudent to have someone keeping a lookout earlier. Would you be so kind, Severus?'

Severus gave a grim smile of satisfaction. 'Certainly, headmaster.'

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An hour later, the students had been ferried in from the station and settled into their house tables. The Hall was alight with the usual bustle of hungry and travel-weary children, exchanging start of term greetings, bits of summer news, enthusiastic teenage hellos with various beaus and comparisons of timetables for the new year. Severus was not sorry to miss out on the din or the merriment as he made his solitary way past the doors to the Great Hall and up to the Astronomy Tower, coming to stand in a shadow against one corner of the ramparts where he was afforded the greatest view of the grounds. He stared resolutely up at the sky, certain that Potter and Weasley – if they'd managed to make it to the school alive (and Severus had no doubt, with Potter's luck, they would) – would be coming to land very shortly. The students from the train had made it into the school and the hall already, and even as Severus stood watch he saw the little boats of first years make their way across the lake to the docks beneath the castle. It was a new-moon night and, despite the smattering of stars, the grounds and sky were both very dark. Severus had difficulty in his search, and wondered if he might miss the boys' arrival in the blackness.

He needn't have worried.

Barely half an hour into his vigil, he heard frantic screaming and a heavy whooshing overhead. He turned to see the blue Ford Anglia coming quickly toward him. But it wasn't soaring triumphantly to a touchdown on the grass. In fact, it looked to be completely out of the boys' control. As the car came closer, falling well beneath Severus's height on the tower, Severus realised all its lights were off, and there was no purr of an engine. The car was dead. It was falling from the sky, the boys still inside it.

Severus's heart came into his throat as the car plummeted, falling in an arch toward the castle walls. He fumbled for his wand, cursing himself for keeping it in his pocket rather than his hand as he waited and knowing, even as he drew it from the folds of his robes and tried to angle himself to get an aim at the falling vehicle below him, that no spell would be in time.

Mercifully, the red-haired boy behind the steering wheel managed to turn the car. It swerved away, missing the stone wall of the turret by millimetres. Severus pulled himself back from his precarious position hanging over the rail, his pulse normalising a bit. He'd barely begun to recover, however, when the car levelled out of its turn, and Severus saw the idiots were headed directly for the massive Whomping Willow situated a ways down the grounds.

Why was it _always_ Potter?!

There was nothing to be done. The car was far too distant to redirect with a spell, and even a reanimation would never hit them in time to prevent the crash. Severus watched in horror as the Ford Anglia smashed, with a sickening crunch of its front end, into the mid branches of the tree, slipping through the boughs to the ground with a final thunk. He thanked the higher powers that the car had been low enough that it hadn't flipped when it fell, or the boys would probably lose what little brains they still possessed.

Predictably, the vile tree began to attack back, swinging its heavy limbs at the battered motor. Severus could hardly see the outline properly through the dark, but it didn't look like the boys had exited the car. Raising his wand at last, he took careful aim and muttered the charm that would reanimate the Ford, praying that it might be enough to pull them out of the tree's reach.

Severus didn't bother to wait to see if the spell had made contact, whirling as soon as he'd cast and sweeping down the stairs as quickly as he could, his dark robes billowing out behind him.

If Potter had survived that fiasco, Severus was going to kill him.

Finally exiting the castle into the grounds, Severus swept silently down the steps and toward the willow, dreading what he might find. As he crested the first hill, however, he saw that the tree was still swinging – several of its branches bent at odd angles and cracked through. But there was no car or child in sight. Looking around, he could see tyre tracks headed toward the Forbidden Forest. He looked back toward the castle.

Squinting, he thought he could see two small figures silhouetted against the lit windows of the Great Hall. Perhaps the boys were trying to signal the other students to their arrival. Severus made quickly for them, his fury re-igniting now he could clearly see their survival for himself.

He crept up quietly behind them, enjoying their looks of pure panic as he announced his presence. He took a moment to glare at each in turn. They were clearly worse for wear – Potter was supporting a rapidly swelling lump on his forehead, opposite the lightening scar, and Weasley was bleeding from several deep scratches across his cheek and brow. They both looked bruised and exhausted, and distinctly petrified.

'Come with me,' said Severus, his voice low and dangerous. Avoiding both the professor's and each other's eyes, Potter and Weasley followed, dragging their luggage behind them. Neither dared to speak.

Severus led the boys up the stone front steps and through the empty entrance hall without a word. He leaned slightly over them as they crossed the threshold, breaking their holds on the handles of their luggage and letting the bag and trunk fall to the ground. Neither boy protested. He swept in front again, leaving them to scramble after him. The aroma of the feast wafting out from the Great Hall told Severus that the Sorting must have finished in his absence, but he did not lead the children in to join their classmates. Instead, he headed for the stairs – and for his own dungeon office.

'Inside,' he directed, as they reached the office, 'and sit.'

He held the door open with one arm and watched the boys pass him into the room. They went quickly, still resolutely avoiding his eye. Severus followed after Weasley, shutting the door firmly behind him. He saw Potter shiver. The air in the dungeon was cooler than that above, but Severus didn't think it was uncomfortably cold. He gave the child a swift, searching look, evaluating him. Perhaps the bump on the head had left him a little addled. Or, perhaps, he was simply worried that Severus was about to dice them up for potions ingredients.

He dearly hoped it was the latter.

'Well, well, well,' he said quietly, coming around to lean against the edge of his desk and staring imposingly down upon the shamed children. 'The Hogwarts Express isn't good enough for our pint-sized celebrity, or his faithful assistant. Wanted to arrive in style, did we boys?'

Potter looked up at him, his green eyes slightly wild with terror. 'No sir,' he said quickly. 'It was the barrier at the –'

'Silence!' Severus snapped. He leaned toward them and asked, in a deadly quiet voice, 'What have you done with the car?'

Ron Weasley gulped, shooting a terrified look at his partner in crime. Potter's look of dread intensified, as he glared mistrustfully back at Severus. Severus was surprised, in searching his eyes, to discover that Potter was focusing very hard on an image of an empty quidditch pitch. Severus was momentarily mildly worried that the boy was having trouble grasping reality. Then, in a rush of realisation, Severus knew that Potter was attempting to use his meagre Occlumency. Potter, apparently, thought that Severus had pulled the details of their travel from his mind, and was trying to stop him from learning more. He was torn between slight shock and vicious amusement. The image – clearly – was something Dumbledore had been having the child envision in bed, probably to calm his mind before sleep. He was grudgingly impressed that Potter had thought to employ his efforts to try and protect his thoughts. And the image _would_ serve as a decent distraction if he attempted to truly legilimise the child – for about three seconds – but it wasn't anything like a true shield for the mind. Severus could rip it to shreds without even trying, should he wish to. He could probably do it wandlessly, the force required would be so infinitesimal.

But he pushed the temptation away. Albus would be greatly displeased if he performed Legilimency on a twelve-year-old in such an obvious way. And, with his luck, Potter probably had a concussion from the crash and Severus would damage his imprudent brain even further. Albus was liable to _kill_ him if that happened.

Severus settled, instead, for a cold sneer, pulling the _Evening Prophet_ out of his robe pocket and unfurling it in front of the boys.

'You were seen,' he said, watching the understanding – and perhaps a little relief – spread over Potter's face as he took in the headline of the paper. 'By no less than six or seven Muggle observers.'

He turned the paper to face himself, and began to read aloud, still in a dangerously quiet voice. '"Two Muggle tourists in London insisted to Scotland Yard that they had seen an old car flying above the Tower"… "Norfolk around midday, Mrs Hetty Bayliss reports she saw a blue old-fashioned vehicle soar overhead as she hung out her washing"… "Mr Angus Fleet claims the car flew over Peebles in the late afternoon…"' He trailed off, folding the paper with an exaggerated relish and flinging it onto Weasley's desk.

'I believe _your_ father works for the Mis-use of Muggle Artefacts Office, Weasley?' he said viciously. The child pinked. Severus shook his head. 'His own son… how very disappointing.' Potter, beside the Weasley boy, looked equally as guilty and embarrassed.

Snape straightened a bit, brushing at the sleeve of his robes and letting the boys' discomfort fester. When he feared they might start talking to explain themselves again, he continued his lecture.

'I did a search of the grounds, after your _grand_ arrival,' he said, 'and noted that a very old and valuable Whomping Willow appears to have sustained substantial damage. Was it your aim to destroy school property in addition to interrupting the feast, I wonder? No doubt it would make the entire spectacle far more… _memorable_.'

Weasley actually opened his mouth in outrage. 'Are you serious?' the child asked, disbelieving, 'That bloody tree did more damage to us than we could've –'

'Silence!' Severus bellowed again. 'And ten points from Gryffindor for language, Weasley.'

Weasley snapped his mouth shut, but glared at the professor with hatred etched in his eyes. Severus considered them both, his own eyes glittering. 'I will not take cheek from either of you. Clearly, you do not realise the seriousness of your situation.' He bent forward again, fixing each of them in turn with his most vicious glare.

'You have flouted both wizarding _and_ Muggle law with your actions. You caused your parents, the headmaster and your Head of House a great deal of needless anxiety. Your actions this day embarrassed the dignity of this school, your own father, our Ministry of Magic and wizarding society. Moreover, you put both your lives into serious peril. You could have died tonight. Potter – I know you, for one, have been warned against such thoughtless action.' Severus gave the child a piercing stare, and watched his face fall into deep depression. He stood, allowing the effect of his words to settle on the children. Their shame and guilt was palpable in the room. Severus took it in with relish – they deserved every bit, the foolish, thoughtless brats.

'In my opinion,' he said silkily, 'Offences of this grave nature should be punishable by expulsion.' He paused again, enjoying the twin looks of horror that spread across the little faces. 'Most unfortunately, however, you are not in my House, and therefore the decision to expel you does not rest with me. But I shall fetch the people who _do_ have that luxury. You two,' he said, pointing an admonitory finger at both boys as he reached the doorway, 'Will not move from those spots until I return.'

He swept from the room, leaving the boys sitting like petrified statues, scared to blink after his dire announcement.

In the corridor, Severus leaned against the bricks of the wall, calming himself a bit from the roller coaster of temper, anxiety, fear and indignation that had ruled his day since Molly Weasley's head had popped into the headmaster's fire. He knew, of course, that Dumbledore would never expel Potter – certainly not for this, and probably not for _anything_ , really. But he thought the boy deserved to stew. Perhaps it would instil a modicum of rational thought into his moronic reasoning the next time he got some hare-brained idea for a scheme that was likely to get him killed.

When he'd had a moment to collect himself, Severus shot a patronus off to Albus and Minerva. He felt a bit guilty … he probably ought to have told him when he'd collected the boys from the grounds, rather than lecturing them for ten minutes first and leaving the professors to their continued anxiety. The kinder part of his brain protested that he'd dragged Potter and Weasley into the office first because he'd been too stunned by their near-fatal arrival to keep his scathing lecture to himself a moment longer. The more vindictive part of his conscience, meanwhile, put in that he'd rather thought Dumbledore and Minerva deserved their extra moments of worry, as they were likely to let the boys off completely for their recklessness when they had their turn.

He didn't bother to actually leave the passage, waiting instead for the others' arrival just outside the study. He half-listened for the sounds of conversation between the two brats he'd left inside alone, but he didn't hear a peep. He supposed he'd scared them thoroughly enough to keep them compliant, for now.

Barely five minutes after his patronus had streaked away, Minerva came rushing down the corridor toward him, her hair coming loose from its bun in her hurry. Severus shot a wordless _muffliato_ at the office door, so he could speak with Minerva before they entered.

'Where is the headmaster?' he asked immediately, as she stopped in front of him, slightly out of breath.

'He will be down in a few minutes,' Minerva replied. 'He is explaining the situation to Filius, as we'll both be absent from the Great Hall for a time and you are already missing. He doesn't want to alarm the rest of the school.' Severus nodded. 'Are they alright?' Minerva asked, glancing anxiously toward the door behind him.

Severus sneered. 'They are in one piece, relatively speaking,' he said. 'They crashed into the Whomping Willow on the landing, but I managed to charm the car and it backed them out again. I've left them to contemplate their actions for a few minutes while I collect you and Albus.'

Minerva nodded, fixing her hair back into place. Now that she knew her students were safely arrived, Severus could see her steeling herself for her own lecture. It was a welcome sight.

'Let's go then,' she said, having regained her breath and composure. Severus opened the door.

The two boys were seated exactly as he'd left them ten minutes ago. Both looked up at him briefly, then focused on their Head of House. Severus was a little miffed to see that they seemed much more frightened on seeing Minerva's expression than his own. Her lips were thin in the extreme, her nostrils flaring in anger. She pulled her wand and the children flinched, but she pointed it at the chilled fireplace, igniting the flames to warm the room.

'Explain,' she said, taking Severus's previous post in front of the desk and crossing her arms as she glared down at Potter and Weasley. Severus hung back by the door, awaiting Albus' arrival and content to watch Minerva's ire unfold.

Weasley launched into their harrowing tale, telling Minerva about the obstruction at the barrier that had sprung up after his mother went through and caused them to miss the train. He told her how they'd feared the adults could not get back through to them, and how the Muggles in the station had been staring and muttering at their appearance.

'So, you see, we didn't have a choice, Professor. We couldn't get onto the train.' He finished.

'And did it ever occur to you, Weasley, Potter,' Severus saw Potter cringe a bit at the renewed use of his surname, 'That your disappearance might cause Molly and Arthur to panic? Did it not cross your mind that your parents would know immediately that you hadn't made it onto the Express? Did you not consider that the charm on the car might wear off, and that you could have plummeted to your deaths miles from your destination?'

Potter and Weasley gaped at her. 'Er –' Potter began, 'Not exactly, Professor. We didn't really think –'

' _That_ ,' said Minerva in a sarcastic tone that did Severus proud, 'is quite obvious.'

A soft knock on the office door alerted the professors to the headmaster's arrival. Severus hurried to open it, a satisfied smirk still on his face from Minerva's scolding. Albus entered the room, looking uncharacteristically grave and staring over his spectacles at the two boys. Severus saw Potter squirm, sinking a little lower in his seat.

Albus allowed the silence to build a moment, taking a place beside Minerva in front of the children.

'Please explain why you would do such a thing,' he said, his voice very soft, but heavy with clear disappointment. The boys' shoulders slumped further, as though Albus had bellowed the words. Severus knew from experience that the weight of the headmaster's disappointment could be a far more effective tool than shouting.

Potter, it appeared, felt similarly. He began giving his explanation to his knees, telling the professors how they had taken the car; how the invisibility booster had gone faulty as they soared above the city; how they'd followed the Express through the countryside; and finally about how the engine had sputtered out over the lake, and they had fallen from the sky into the Whomping Willow. He didn't – Severus noticed – mention where the car had come from… but the headmaster already knew that part. Albus asked no questions, but continued to stare intently at both children with that disappointed, sad expression.

'I suppose we'll go and get our stuff,' Weasley put in hopelessly, as Potter finished his tale and the headmaster remained silent.

'What are you on about, Weasley?' Minerva snapped.

'Well,' said the boy, looking confused, 'Aren't you – aren't you're expelling us, ma'am?'

'No,' said Albus softly. 'Not this time, Mr Weasley. But I cannot impress upon you both the gravity of this situation. I will be discussing the incident with your parents, Mr Weasley. Harry, I want to speak with you further myself. I'll see you in my study during your morning break tomorrow. I must also warn both of you – if you do anything like this in future, I will be forced to expel you.'

Both boys looked like they'd been granted reprieve from the guillotine. Severus felt a surge of anger. He was sure Molly Weasley would more than handle her son, but he had no hope that the headmaster's meeting with Potter in the morning would be any more than a chance to ascertain for himself more privately that the child had not been permanently damaged by his escapades.

He cleared his throat pointedly, glaring at Dumbledore. 'Headmaster,' he began, 'these two have defied the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery. They have permanently damaged valuable school property. They have shown utter disregard for their own skins, and a dangerous lack of ability to think rationally. Surely, acts of this magnitude –'

Albus flashed him a quelling look. 'They are in Minerva's House, Severus,' Albus reminded him firmly. 'It is for her to decide on an appropriate punishment.' He turned to face her, and continued, 'I must return to the feast. I have several notices to give out before the students are dismissed. Severus,' he added, striding toward the door. 'Why don't you come along with me...'

Severus glared, but acquiesced, knowing the suggestion was less query than command.

'They'll need to go to hospital wing when you're through with them, Minerva,' Severus said as he reluctantly followed Albus toward the office door. 'Weasley's bleeding and Potter probably ought to be checked for concussion. We would not want their fifteen minutes of hard-won fame to be cut short if one of them keels over in the common room,' he added nastily, not wanting Minerva to think he really cared whether either of her Gryffindor brats had been injured.

Albus stopped, shooting a look of concern back at the boys.

'I'll sort them out,' Minerva assured, waving a hand to shoo them through the door. Albus looked a little like he wanted to stay, but Severus, keeping his sneering mask in place, pushed the headmaster through the opening. It had been his idea to exit in the first place, after all. He could coddle the irritating brat all he wanted tomorrow.

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Harry stared up at Professor McGonagall, who was still looking very grim. He was thrilled not to be expelled, but he hated that he'd so angered the two people who had diligently cared for him this summer. He felt like an idiot. _Why_ did he ever allow himself to think taking the car was a smart idea?

McGonagall reached forward, and Harry cringed back a bit. She didn't strike him, however. Instead she carefully cupped the back of his head with one hand, feeling the bump on his forehead lightly with the other. Harry hissed a little when she pressed on it, but he didn't pull away again.

'Are you having any dizziness or nausea?' McGonagall asked, turning his face upward and looking carefully into his eyes. Her voice was still clipped, but a tad softer.

'No, ma'am,' he said; which wasn't entirely true, as he'd felt very sick throughout most of their time in the office. He was quite certain, however, that the nausea was unrelated to the car crash.

McGonagall nodded, pulling her wand again and shining a light from the tip at each of his eyes. She seemed satisfied.

'I do not think you have a concussion,' she said, 'just a nasty bruise. I'll send some balm up to the tower. Weasley, let me see you now.'

She beckoned Ron toward her. He stepped forward like he was approaching a crouching tigress. McGonagall rolled her eyes and pulled him firmly to face her when he stepped within arm's reach. She examined the cuts on his cheek and above his eye, tapping each with her wand and sealing them closed.

'Do either of you need the hospital wing for other injuries?' she asked, looking sternly down at them once more. They shook their heads.

'Professor,' Ron ventured, wiping the sleeve of his robe across his face to remove the excess blood, 'I wanted to watch Ginny being sorted –'

'The ceremony has finished,' McGonagall said primly. 'Your sister has also been placed in Gryffindor.'

'Excellent!' said Ron.

'And on the subject of Gryffindor –' Professor McGonagall began, but Harry cut across her.

'Professor, when we, er, borrowed the car, term hadn't really started yet. So… well, Gryffindor shouldn't really lost points for that, right?'

He watched her anxiously, wondering if he'd gone too far. Professor McGonagall stared down at him for a moment, but Harry could have sworn she was fighting a smile.

'Very well,' she said. 'I shall not take points, this time.' Harry let out a sigh of relief. Beside him, Ron also relaxed slightly. 'But I am assigning you both a detention,' she said firmly. Harry wasn't bothered much – that was far easier than he'd expected them to be let off, especially after Snape's pep talk.

McGonagall pointed her wand at the Snape's desk, summoning a heaping plate of hot sandwiches, a flagon of pumpkin juice, and two silver goblets – already full. 'You'll eat here tonight,' she said sternly. 'And go up immediately to the Tower when you're through.'

Without another word, she strode from the office again.

Ron and Harry stared at each other, hardly daring to believe their luck. Ron sighed as he grabbed a sandwich from the plate.

'That was lucky,' he said to Harry, picking out a few unwanted onions. 'I thought we were done for.' Harry nodded fervently, choosing his own sandwich.

'We'll have to be on our guard from now on though,' Harry noted between bites. Ron nodded seriously, picking one of the goblets of juice. He took a deep swig, and pulled a face immediately.

'Oh, gross!' he said, scrubbing his tongue against his teeth and scrutinising the goblet with great distaste. 'This juice is off!'

Harry took the other, sniffing at it. It didn't smell off to him. He took an experimental sip. He could taste the pumpkin, but the juice also had a significant metallic aftertaste. Harry recognised it immediately.

'She's spiked it,' he said to Ron. Ron looked confused. 'With potion,' Harry explained. 'It's got an anti-inflammatory draught in it, I recognise the taste.'

Ron looked dubiously into his own goblet again. 'Are you sure?'

'Positive,' Harry said. 'I've had it before. And McGonagall's spiked things she's given me before too, actually, come to think of it. It seems like something she'd do.' He took a big gulp of the juice, trying to drain the goblet quickly. Ron stared at him in disgust.

'You're gonna _drink_ it?' he asked, incredulous.

Harry shrugged. 'I'd bet anything she'll check,' he said in resignation. 'So might as well. She'll probably send us up to hospital wing if we don't take it. And I think the flagon is probably ok – that's why she had the goblets come filled. We can rinse it down with normal pumpkin juice.'

Ron still looked doubtful, but he started to work on his own goblet, pulling a disgusted face as he swallowed. Harry drained his laced juice and poured a fresh goblet-full as he took a second sandwich. The new juice, he noted in relief, was perfectly normal in taste.

After they'd eaten their fill and washed the potion residue out of their mouths, Harry and Ron left the darkness of the dungeons and made their way up to Gryffindor Tower. Harry was quite ready for bed – even with the potion, he still felt a bit achy, and his ribs were still very sore. Mostly, he was just exhausted.

As they rounded the corner of the passage that would lead them to the fat lady, they ran – almost literally – into Hermione.

' _There_ you are!' she said, as the three of them headed for the portrait. 'Where have you been? Why weren't you on the train? You wouldn't believe the rumours flying around – someone said you'd been expelled for flying a car to school!'

'Don't worry, we haven't been expelled,' said Ron, apparently in an attempt to soothe her. Instead, she fired up at once.

'You aren't saying, Ronald Weasley,' she said, sounding just as stern as Professor McGonagall had, 'that you and Harry actually _did_ fly here?' Ron backed away a bit, looking scared.

Ron was saved his response, however, by Dean Thomas, who opened the portrait hole behind them at that very moment, sticking his head into the corridor.

'Harry! Ron!' he said, sounding excited. 'I thought I heard you guys out here… Come in – everyone's waiting for you!' He grabbed hold of Harry, who was closest, and began to drag him through the opening. Ron followed, shooting an apologetic look at Hermione, who was left in the corridor, fuming at them both.

Harry was deafened by a roar of noise as they entered the common room. Everyone seemed to be there – from the new first years to the seventh year students. And they were all giving him and Ron furious applause. They were passed about like football heroes, wringing hands with seemingly every student but Hermione and Percy Weasley, receiving profuse congratulations and admirations, and being clapped so frequently on the back that Harry feared his jarred ribs might slip forward through his chest. Fred and George were particularly rowdy; after they'd thoroughly dressed them down for taking the car without bringing them along.

At long last, he and Ron were able to detach themselves from the crowd. They wished a stony-faced Hermione a good night, heading up the stairs to their dormitory.

Harry laughed a bit at Ron's slightly guilty grin as they changed into their pyjamas for the night. But laying in his bed once they'd turned off the lights, Harry had a difficult time clearing his mind for sleep.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on the quidditch pitch, the Occlumency attempts made him think about his lessons this summer, and Dumbledore's soft voice lulling him to a peaceful sleep.

And now, all he could see was Professor Dumbledore's disappointed face.


	16. Wood, Whispers, and Witch Weekly's Most

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 16: Wood, Whispers, and Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile**

Harry's first day of term started off very badly. He'd been up half the night, struggling with the old nightmares again. After he'd woken Ron the first time, he'd set a silencing charm around the bed. It worked to some extent, as it did stop him waking the others when he screamed himself to consciousness a second, and then a third, time… but the charm also kept him from hearing the boys wake up in the morning and start getting ready for the day. By the time Ron thought to rouse him, Harry was already running late. He'd had to leave the dormitory with his hair still dripping from the shower and his eyes gritty with sleep, in order to stand a chance at making breakfast in the Great Hall.

When he and Ron ran in, they discovered Hermione already seated at the table, one of the glossy Lockhart books propped open in front of her. She greeted them in a snippy tone, clearly still cross with them over their unorthodox arrival. To make matters worse, Ron received a howler over his eggs. Harry hadn't known, initially, why everyone was eying the scarlet letter like a bomb about to explode, but he learned quite soon that it _was_ , in essence.

The letter was not written at all, but some sort of packaged version of Mrs Weasley's tirade against her son. Her magnified voice boomed a lecture for the entire hall to hear, and Harry cringed lower and lower in his chair, coming to level with the table top as his name finally surfaced in the rant. His guilt and shame mounted exponentially, especially when Mrs Weasley mentioned that Arthur was facing an inquiry at work. It was all _their_ fault… and after everything the Weasleys had done for him his summer… Harry wished he could have sunk straight through the floor and out of sight.

Somehow, he managed to keep his head in double Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall was a little cool toward him at first, but she warmed considerably when he successfully managed to transfigure his water beetle on his first attempt. Ron, who was having great difficulties with his damaged and spell-o-taped wand, did not fare nearly as well. While Harry and Hermione mastered the spell quickly, Ron merely sent his water beetle flying spectacularly across the classroom, where it smashed with an audible squelch into the back of Lavender Brown's head.

Parvati Patil squealed in terror and disgust, pointing at her friend's plait in horror, and both girls spent the greater part of the next five minutes hopping around in panic – Lavender screeching about the bug guts in her hair and Parvati swearing she couldn't help her remove them, because the sight of dead things made her feel ill. Professor McGonagall finally managed to vanish the mess herself and send both girls back to their seats, before deducting ten points from Ron. He was very unhappy by the end of the lesson.

'Never going to work again, this thing,' he moaned, holding the wand up hopelessly as the trio made their way out of the Transfiguration classroom at the bell.

Hermione and Harry remained silent – both thought Ron was probably right.

'I'll see you guys later,' Harry said, as they reached the turn for the corridor to the Fat Lady.

'Aren't you coming back to the common room for break, Harry?' Hermione asked, looking confused. She had, mercifully, forgiven him and Ron after the memorable Howler had said its piece, apparently assured they had been adequately dressed down. Harry shook his head.

'No – got that meeting with Dumbledore.'

Ron grimaced sympathetically. 'Good luck, mate,' he said, giving Harry a pat on the shoulder like he was headed for the gallows. 'At least he didn't send you a howler.'

Harry gave a weak sort of grin, and turned for the stairs.

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'Come in, Harry.' Albus called, hearing the knock on his office door at eleven o'clock.

Harry pushed the door open cautiously and sidled into the study, looking determinedly at the floor. 'You wanted to see me, sir?' he asked the marble.

Albus sighed. 'Yes, Harry. Come – have a seat.'

He gestured to the chair in front of his desk. Harry took it, still not looking at him. Albus seated himself in turn, scrutinising the boy over the tips of his fingers.

'I wanted to speak with you further about the events of yesterday,' he said seriously. He paused, waiting for Harry to look up. Slowly, the boy raised his gaze. His green eyes were filled with a mixture of sadness and trepidation. 'Mr Weasley, as you no doubt learned this morning at breakfast, has parents who will ensure he feels the gravity of his actions. You, however, do not. But you _do_ have many people who care about you – and I am lucky to count myself as one. And so, I asked you here today not as your headmaster, but because I wish to talk to you about what happened in the way I know James and Lily would have done, if they were able to be here; to watch you grow and make the many misguided choices of the young.'

Harry looked a little uncomfortable, squirming in his chair.

Albus went on, 'I know you were reprimanded heavily last night, but I want to make sure you understand the situation you put us all in. You were not punished because I thought your actions were designed to show off, or even deliberately intended to cause trouble. I was angry because I was afraid – as was Professor McGonagall, and the Weasley parents. When Molly Weasley called to tell us she and Arthur could not locate the car, that you were missing as well, it sent everyone into a panic. We could not contact you. We had no means to ensure you and Ronald were safe, or even alive. There was no possibility of intercepting your journey, and there was very little we could do to control your arrival. Spells such as the locomotive flying charm placed on that motor are notorious for their unpredictability over long periods of time. There was every chance you could simply fall from the sky. Neither you nor Ronald Weasley have the skill yet to be able to save yourselves.'

'I realised that,' said Harry, nodding softly. 'The car's engine failed just as we were coming into the grounds.'

'Exactly,' said Albus, looking very seriously at Harry. 'You were very lucky it didn't happen sooner, or when you were higher up in the air. You could both have been killed.'

Harry nodded again, seeming close to tears. Albus sighed, and softened his tone with some effort. 'In time,' he continued, 'You will come to learn that often when adults are most angry or upset, it is because they are frightened for you; because they care for you. I assure you that much more than wanting to punish you, we all wanted to ensure you were safe and whole. I _do_ hope you will realise your actions were reckless and poorly thought out, because learning from our mistakes prevents us repeating them. And I will reiterate what I said to you over the summer – I want you to take _care_ with your life, your health and your safety. I could not have lived with myself if something had happened to you last night.'

'Yes sir,' said Harry in a small voice, wiping a bit at his eyes.

Albus pushed himself up from his chair. 'Well, then let us say no more about it for now. Come and sit – I'll send for some tea, and you can tell me about your first lesson of the term.'

He patted Harry gently on the shoulder as the child rose and preceded him to the little sitting area. Albus called for tea and biscuits, and directed the conversation in more pleasant directions, trying to ease the tension. Slowly, Harry relaxed.

'I am sorry, sir,' Harry said, as Albus banished the empty tea things and walked him toward the office door. 'I didn't mean to disappoint you.'

'I know,' Albus assured him. On instinct, he pulled the child to him an embrace as he made for the door, cradling the back of his head. But Harry gave a slightly muffled cry of pain as he was pressed against the headmaster, and Albus quickly released him.

'What is it, Harry?' he asked in alarm, searching the child.

'It's nothing, sir. I'm fine,' Harry replied quickly, but Albus could see he was hunched over slightly, and one hand had come instinctively to his left side.

Albus shook his head. 'You're injured,' he said in concern, moving closer to the boy and pulling Harry's hand gently away from his robes. 'Let me see.'

Harry backed away. 'It's nothing, just a few bruises left over from yesterday.'

'Take off the robes, Harry,' Albus said firmly.

Harry swallowed, but started to pull them over his head. He struggled a bit to lift his left arm out, with a hiss of pain, and Albus stepped in to assist. When Harry had been relieved of the outer robes, Albus pulled his tee-shirt free from the waist of his jeans and lifted the hem. The entirety of the left side of the child's chest was a deep purple. Albus stared.

'Why did you not say anything?' he said, stunned. Harry did not answer. Albus sighed. 'Come and sit back on the sofa, so I can get a better look.'

Harry let the tee-shirt drop back over his side, and walked to the sitting area with his eyes on the floor. Albus got him settled and shot upstairs to retrieve the necessities, then pushed the table out of the way and pulled the ottoman around to seat himself in front of Harry. He drew the tee-shirt up again.

'Lay on your right side,' he said. Harry did, still very quiet. From this position, Albus could see that the bruising ran around his torso to his back. He gave another deep sigh. 'This is quite severe, Harry,' he said, pulling his wand to run a diagnostic. 'I know Minerva asked you about injuries last night. Why on earth did you not tell her?'

Harry gave a semblance of a shrug from his awkward position on the sofa. 'She put a potion in the juice she gave us,' he said. 'I didn't think it was that big of a deal.'

Albus ran his wand over the injury. 'I think you knew it was, Harry,' he said quietly. 'And certainly you realised the injury did not fade with the potion. You should have come straight to me, or gone back to Minerva, at the very least, if you wouldn't go and see Madam Pomfrey.'

Harry was silent a moment, then he said in a very small voice, 'You were already so angry at me. I didn't want to make it worse.'

'Harry,' Albus said, abandoning his examination for a moment and leaning over the child, placing one hand gently on his upturned shoulder. 'You frightened me immensely yesterday. But no matter _how_ angry or upset I may have been, I would never want you to be in pain for even a moment. I would not have turned you away. Nor will I ever. I am sorry I didn't realise you were hurt earlier.' He brushed his fingers briefly through Harry's hair, and the boy gave him a half smile. He returned it briefly, and looked back to the bruised ribs again.

'You have two broken ribs and have bruised another,' he said, reading the diagnostic. 'It looks like an impact injury… Did you get this from the crash, or were you hit by the Whomping Willow?'

'I got hurt at the station, sir,' Harry admitted. 'When the barrier wouldn't open. Ron and I were running at it, so we got thrown a bit when we struck the metal. My chest hit the handle of the trolley pretty hard before I fell. I think they got jarred a bit when we crashed, but I was already sore from Kings Cross.'

Albus sighed, but nodded. 'I can set them, of course, but I want you to take some pain reliever and a mild sleeping draught.' When Harry looked about to protest, Albus held up a hand. 'I can tell you are exhausted, and you will heal more fully if you rest. I am afraid I will have to insist.'

'But, sir,' Harry insisted, 'It's only the first day back. I have lessons – Herbology and Charms… I can't miss the first lessons of term.'

'Your teachers will understand. I shall speak to both Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick on your behalf. I want you to lie down upstairs and have a quiet afternoon, or I am afraid I will have to put you in Madam Pomfrey's care for the day.'

Harry sighed but ended his protest. Albus healed the injured ribs, and gently spread a bruise balm over the child's mottled skin. He handed Harry a pain reliever after helping him to sit up, and Harry downed it gratefully.

'Let's get you to bed before I give you the other potion,' Albus said, taking Harry's hand and pulling him slowly to his feet again. 'I'm sure you got little sleep last night.'

'No,' Harry said in agreement. 'I had some nightmares,' he admitted.

'Hmm,' Albus said, searching the child's drawn face and the circles under his eyes. He doubted Harry would be able to clear his mind today. 'Perhaps a dreamless sleep potion then.'

He led the way up the stairs, and into the bedroom that had become Harry's over the summer. He pulled the pair of pyjamas he'd kept in the wardrobe when moving Harry's things to Gryffindor Tower out from their drawer, and handed them to the boy. 'Go ahead and get settled in,' he said. 'I'll alert the other professors that I'm keeping you for the afternoon, and I'll be back in a few minutes with the potion.'

Albus swept from the room again, returning to the study. He was surprised to see that the room was not empty – Severus stood in the centre of the sitting area, his eyes scanning the table, where Albus had left the pain reliever and bruise balm. He looked up as Albus exited the stairway.

'Headmaster,' Severus said in greeting, 'I apologise for coming in unannounced – you didn't answer the knock, and I merely intended to leave you a note,' he said, lifting the quill he held in one hand. He gestured with it to the spread of remedies on the coffee table. 'Is everything alright?' he asked, giving the headmaster a once-over.

'Perfectly, thank you, Severus,' Albus said, banishing the potions with a wave of his hand.

'Weren't you supposed to be meeting with Potter this morning? Has he gone back to mope in Gryffindor Tower? I did not see him in the Great Hall for luncheon.'

'He is upstairs,' Albus admitted. When Severus looked surprised, he explained, 'At the end of our conversation, I noticed that Harry was favouring his left side. It seems he was a little more banged up than I realised at our meeting yesterday.'

Severus narrowed his eyes. 'How so, Albus?'

'It seems he sustained several fractured and bruised ribs from his activities of the day.'

Severus snarled. 'Idiotic brat!' he spat. 'What did they expect from such ridiculous exploits? That brat requires more healing in two months than my Slytherin quidditch team collectively over an entire season! And what was Minerva thinking? I told her to send those two to Hospital Wing when she'd finished with them.'

'I do not think Harry was particularly forthcoming,' Albus said delicately, 'But there is no point debating it now. I've sent him up to bed for the afternoon. In fact, I was about to inform Filius and Pomona that he would be absent from their lessons. Perhaps you would be willing to pass on the message?'

Severus still looked annoyed, but nodded stiffly. 'You've patched the boy up then; I take it?'

'Yes,' Albus said. 'I am about to give him a sleeping draught, but he should be quite recovered by dinner. What is it you wanted to see me about, Severus?'

Severus waved a hand indifferently. 'Nothing of importance. I merely wished to inform you that several of my sixth years came to me after their first period Defence lesson, wanting to register complaints about Lockhart. Not that I was at all surprised… but we can discuss it another time,' he added, apparently catching Albus's distraction.

'Yes, perhaps that would be best, Severus.' Albus said wearily, already turning back for the stairs. 'I shall see you at dinner. Thank you for speaking with the others about Harry.'

'Headmaster,' Severus acknowledged with a bow of his head.

He swept from the office without further comment, and Albus headed back up the stairs to Harry. He stopped in at the cabinet to retrieve a phial of Dreamless Sleep, and made his way into the bedroom. Harry was already under the covers, though he still looked a bit recalcitrant. Albus measured out a dose of the potion.

'You'll feel much more refreshed when you wake,' he said, holding the spoon toward Harry. The child hesitated.

'I really _am_ sorry, professor,' he said, 'Truly. I know what Ron and I did was stupid – I wasn't thinking. And I'm sorry I made you, the Weasleys and Professor McGonagall worry so much.'

Albus smiled. 'I know, Harry,' he assured him. 'And I am not angry with you anymore. Just get some rest now, and hopefully the remainder of term will be a little easier on both our nerves.'

Harry nodded, and leaned forward to take the potion. Albus helped him lay back as his eyes began to droop. 'Sleep well, my dear boy,' he said quietly. He watched as Harry drifted into peace.

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Harry woke, refreshed and wholly healed, in time for dinner. He gave his thanks to the headmaster, and hurried off to the tower to meet Ron and Hermione before going to the Great Hall. As he climbed through the portrait hole, he found them both just inside, sniping at each other.

'What's up?' he asked, looking between them. Neither Ron nor Hermione had looked round when he'd come through, they were so engaged in their own argument.

'Harry!' Hermione exclaimed in surprise and relief. ' _There_ you are! We were beginning to get worried. Professor Sprout said you'd taken ill when you didn't show up for Herbology, but you weren't in hospital wing when we checked for you between lessons. Where have you been?'

'With Dumbledore,' Harry said, truthfully. 'He kept me a bit longer than we'd expected, so he told the teachers I wouldn't be in class the rest of the day.' He left out the part where he'd been healed and made to rest like an emotional toddler – he knew Ron would take the mickey and Hermione would lecture. 'How were the lessons?' he asked, wanting to move on from the subject.

'Not bad,' Ron said. 'You didn't miss too much. Sprout made us repot Mandrakes – weird things, they are. I'm sure Hermione's got notes. Flitwick had us revising last term mostly – nothing new. He's set us some essay on colour change charms for next lesson.'

Hermione pulled out several sheets of parchment from her bag. 'I've copied everything for you, Harry,' she said, pressing the papers into his hand. 'And I hope you're ready for Defence Against the Dark Arts – we have Professor Lockhart right after breakfast tomorrow. I saw Ernie MacMillan in the corridor after Charms, and he hinted their class had a quiz today in their Defence lesson this afternoon.'

Ron snorted audibly. Harry, looking between them, thought he had some idea what they had been rowing about when he came in. Trying to avert a resurgence of the argument, Harry nodded, taking the notes from Hermione with a word of thanks. He ran up to the dormitory to drop his bag, and the three went down to the Great Hall together for dinner.

'Ah, Mr Potter,' Professor McGonagall waylaid him as he entered the Great Hall with Ron and Hermione. 'And Mr Weasley,' she said, nodding to Ron as well. 'I need a quick word with you both.'

Hermione looked curious, but went off to save them seats at the Gryffindor house table. Harry and Ron followed McGonagall back out into the corridor, which was nearly deserted with most of the students gone into dinner. She spun to face them when they'd removed themselves from the noisy doorway.

'You will both serve your detentions this Saturday evening,' she said primly. 'Weasley, you will be helping Mr Filch in the trophy room with some polishing.' Ron nodded. 'Using the Muggle method,' she added. Ron's face fell slightly. 'Potter, you will be helping Professor Lockhart answer fanmail.'

'Oh no, professor,' said Harry, immediately appalled. 'Can't I go with Ron and Filch?'

Professor McGonagall's eyes flashed. 'Absolutely not,' she said. 'You are both serving punishments for your rash behaviour, and _you_ were specifically requested by Professor Lockhart. I will not bend the assignments for either of you.'

Harry nodded resentfully. Ron looked equally downcast.

'Weasley, you may go,' Professor McGonagall said, with a nod to Ron. Ron looked curiously at Harry, but followed the instruction, heading back into dinner. Harry looked up at Professor McGonagall in confusion.

'Er – was there something further, professor?' he asked with a raised brow. 'I'm sorry if I was rude,' he added quickly, thinking perhaps she was cross with him for his tone. 'I just… I don't like Professor Lockhart much,' he admitted.

Professor McGonagall waved a hand impatiently. 'No, Harry. I merely wanted to speak with you. Professor Dumbledore told me that he discovered you were rather badly injured in the events of yesterday when you went to see him this morning.'

Harry's face reddened. 'I'm fine, professor,' he said quickly.

Professor McGonagall smiled at him. 'I am glad to hear it. But I am sorry I did not notice yesterday. I'm afraid in my anger I may not have been paying enough attention. And I do hope you know that you can come to me, at any time, if you need me.' She gave Harry's hair a brief brush with her hand.

Harry smiled back, and nodded. He was glad that, although things were not quite the same as they had been in the summer, at least both Dumbledore and McGonagall were still looking out for him. 'Yes, professor,' he said. 'And I am sorry – for not saying anything last night, and for what Ron and I did… I know it was stupid.'

'It was,' McGonagall agreed, looking stern again. 'But you will serve your detention this week-end, and keep yourself in line this term, and we shall say no more about it.'

Harry nodded again. 'Yes, ma'am.'

'Good,' said McGonagall. 'Now, run along into dinner, before Weasley thinks I've turned you into a mouse and comes out to check I'm not chasing you round the entrance hall.'

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The rest of the week went fairly smoothly, at least by Hogwarts standards. Harry found that he performed quite well in his lessons – even Potions – the extra work over the summer giving him a distinct advantage. Even so, he worked especially diligently in Snape's first lesson, remembering what the Potions master had said about judging Harry's work to a higher standard because of the tutorials in August.

Hermione was right about Defence Against the Dark Arts. Lockhart did give them a quiz first thing… well, second thing, really, if you counted the long-winded and extremely pompous introductory speech he gave them about himself. Harry was a bit surprised to learn that Lockhart was a multiple recipient of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award – perhaps _witches_ found it 'charming'… _Harry_ found it a little creepy.

He thought he might have failed the quiz. He hoped Dumbledore would not be angry again if he did… but somehow, he hadn't banked on needing to know Lockhart's personal biography for his first lesson in Defence with the new professor.

A lesson which was, by everyone's standards (even Hermione's, Harry suspected, though she refused to admit it to him or Ron), an unmitigated disaster. Lockhart had released a cageful of Cornish Pixies on the class. The little blue creatures had promptly set themselves to create more mayhem in five minutes than even Fred and George Weasley would have been capable of, and the entire class – plus Lockhart, after the pixies had relieved him of his wand – practically dove for the door. Somehow, he, Ron and Hermione had ended up last in the queue, and Lockhart had _graciously_ allowed them the 'extra practice' of catching the remaining (read: all) pixies. It took them the better part of thirty minutes, a clever freezing charm from Hermione, and several impediment jinxes from Harry to stop and cage all of the creatures. The effort had made them nearly late for Professor McGonagall, who looked very disapproving as they slipped into their chairs, sweaty faced and out of breath.

Harry was exhausted from the week by the end of the day on Friday, even though his nightmares had abated since his reconciliation with the Headmaster. Getting back into school schedule was always a difficult feat, and all the second years were looking forward to a good lie-in on Saturday morning.

But for Harry, unfortunately, that was not to be.

He was woken before dawn by someone vigorously shaking his shoulder.

'Wassup, Ron?' he asked thickly, rubbing at his eyes as he turned over in the bed. ''Snot even six, mate.'

'It's Wood!' an enthusiastic voice answered, in a tone much too peppy and a bit too loud for an ungodly hour of a week-end morning. 'Get up, Harry!'

'Oliver?' Harry replied, siting up a little and reaching for his glasses. 'What's the matter?'

'Quidditch!' Oliver Wood answered, a manic gleam in his eyes. Harry noted he was dressed in his full Keeper's gear, broomstick in hand. 'I've booked the pitch – we've got it all morning. Nobody else has started training yet, we're going to get a head-start this season!'

Harry yawned widely. 'Now, Oliver?' he said, almost in a whinge. His bed was _so_ warm and inviting…

'Yes,' said Oliver firmly, digging through Harry's trunk and chucking a set of quidditch training robes at him. 'New practise gear, huh? Excellent!' he said, checking out the gloves McGonagall and Dumbledore had given Harry as he threw those onto the bed as well. 'Look sharp, Harry – met us on the pitch in fifteen!'

He strode cheerily from the room, probably to wake the Weasleys on the floor below. Harry groaned, but pulled himself reluctantly from the bed, shedding his pyjamas and grabbing the proffered robes as he headed for the bathroom. He was shocked Oliver hadn't woken the other boys with his enthusiasm… but then he remembered he'd been setting the silencing charms, just in case.

Three hours and one very long pep talk later; Harry was finally beginning to feel awake. The chilly morning breeze whipping the hair from his face as he flew cleared the cobwebs from his head, as he searched for the practice snitch among the players and fog. He could hear voices calling from the stands, and looking round saw Ron and Hermione had come down from the castle with stacks of toast, clearly just out from the Great Hall. They joined Colin Creevey – an annoying but well-intentioned first year who had taken to following Harry's every move this past week – in the Gryffindor stands. Harry watched them enviously… he was starting to get really hungry.

'Oi, that's not on!' came Wood's angry voice from behind him. Harry wheeled about to see why the captain was shouting.

It wasn't a difficult puzzle to solve.

Seven figures in Slytherin green training robes were making their way toward the pitch, one _very_ familiar white blond head in their midst.

Harry felt his blood begin to boil.

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Half an hour later, Harry and Hermione were seated at Hagrid's massive table sipping at mugs of tea while Ron was repeatedly, violently sick into a basin in the corner. Harry kept shooting him sympathetic glances, but there wasn't much he or Hermione could do but wait for the vomiting to cease naturally, according to Hagrid.

Unfortunately, Ron's broken wand had not proved mendable. Ron was too afraid to write for a new one, after the terrible experience with the howler that Monday, and so he was having to use his spell-o-taped wand in every lesson, trying valiantly to force the magic to cooperate with the broken tool. Regrettably, he seemed to forget, in times of heated argument with Slytherin bullies, that his spellwork was less reliable than usual with his damaged wand.

Which was what had landed him in his current predicament: vomiting up slugs in the corner of Hagrid's hut.

Harry privately felt Malfoy would have deserved the curse, if Ron had been able to cast it properly. But he also agreed with Hagrid that Lucius Malfoy was liable to have brought Hell itself upon them if Ron had cursed Draco in such a manner. Hermione, very uncharacteristically, had not chastised Ron for his reckless wandwork. In fact, she'd been rather quiet since learning the meaning of Malfoy's insult. She was sipping at her tea in silence, giving Ron anxious glances as he retched.

'Pumpkins coming on alright, Hagrid?' Harry asked, trying to distract the group from their melancholy (or, in Ron's case, disgusting illness).

'O yeah,' Hagrid said, beaming proudly. 'I'd take yeh out to see 'em, but I don' want ter get none o' them slugs near 'em. They'll be right big enough for the Hallowe'en feast tho – jus yeh wait.'

'Excellent,' said Harry, grinning back.

'Are you sure there isn't anything we can do?' said Hermione, wringing her hands as she watched Ron let loose another torrent of slugs.

''Fraid not,' Hagrid said. 'It'll stop soon though – tha's not a long curse, usually.'

Indeed, Ron had mostly recovered when he and Harry set out for their detentions that evening, though he still looked a bit peaky and was unusually hesitant to stuff himself at dinner.

'Nearly eight,' said Harry, gesturing at his watch. He, Ron and Hermione were sitting in the best chairs in front of the fire, finally getting in a precious hour of relaxation before their detentions were due to start. They'd spent most of the time stewing on the news that Malfoy had been granted the Seeker position for Slytherin and – in Ron and Harry's case – debating the advantages of the new Nimbus 2001 model broomsticks Malfoy's father had 'gifted' the Slytherin team.

'We'd better get on,' Harry said, standing up. Ron nodded reluctantly, pulling himself from his comfortable seat.

'You've got all the luck,' he complained as they made for the portrait hole. 'Can't believe you get to go sit in an office all evening, and I get stuck with old Filch.'

'I'd swap any day,' said Harry darkly. 'Can you imagine what Lockhart will be like answering his _fanmail_? I'd rather scrub the whole castle!'

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'Ah, Harry – good evening!' Lockhart greeted jovially, showing Harry into his office at eight o'clock as he reported for detention. 'Come in, and please – take a seat,' he said, gesturing to a student desk he'd pulled right alongside his own at the front of the room.

Harry took the proffered seat, dropping his bag to the floor. He looked curiously at the professor, who had remained standing. 'Er –' he started, feeling awkward in the face of Lockhart's gleaming smile. 'Shall I get started, professor?' he asked, uncertainly.

'In a moment Harry, in a moment,' Lockhart said, still beaming. 'I wanted to speak with you first.' He leaned gracefully against the edge of his desk, sweeping a lock of golden hair out of his eyes. Harry wondered vaguely if he curled his hair to make it fall like that… or if he'd found some sort of charm to set it in place.

'Harry, Harry, Harry,' Lockhart continued, shaking his head at him, but _still_ grinning. He waved a finger in Harry's direction. 'Should have expected this from you I suppose – it's all my fault, really.'

'Er…' Harry was confused. 'What exactly is your fault, sir?'

'I gave you a taste for celebrity, Harry!' Lockhart said, widening his eyes as though this were patently obvious. 'Gave you the publicity bug – as it were. The car – that fantastic entrance… it stands out a mile, Harry, why you did it. You were hoping to get a touch of attention – a little more fame, I suppose. These temptations are very common, once you've had a bit of press.'

Harry stared, so thrown by this evaluation that he was momentarily too lost for words to protest. He'd expected this sort of commentary from Snape… but when Snape lectured Harry on his supposed lust for glory, he did it in tones of reprimand and scorn, to get a rise out of him. Lockhart, on the other hand, sounded almost paternal. It was the sort of gentle chastisement that rang of thinly-veiled approval.

'Oh, no, professor,' said Harry, when at last he found his voice. 'It wasn't anything like that. We were just –'

'Harry… Harry, it's alright,' said Lockhart, still shaking his magnificent head and beaming. Harry wanted to try and punch out each of those stupid, gleaming teeth. 'It's natural, really. I should have said something to you sooner. But see here,' he leaned a bit closer, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. 'You'll get there in time, my boy. You're a little young for it now, but if you want fame, it's never too early to think about your future. Just save the bigger stunts for _after_ you've left school, when you're better able to control them.' He gave Harry another wink, and patted the hand on his shoulder in a fatherly way.

Harry could see his protests were in vain. He nodded stiffly, just wanting to get this nauseating conversation over with. 'Right sir,' he forced himself to say. 'Thanks for the advice.'

Lockhart nodded genially and released him, coming around to seat himself at his own desk. He pulled open a drawer and removed a sizable stack of parchment, an equally large stack of envelopes, and two garishly turquoise feather quills. He handed one to Harry.

'I've fallen a bit behind in my correspondence this week, what with all my duties here,' he said as he passed a bottle of ink to Harry as well. 'It's so difficult to keep up with all the admirers – I usually try and devote an hour or two a night, but it's been nearly eight days!' He rummaged in the desk again and pulled out an obnoxiously large stack of post, tied together with twine. Harry noticed that all the letters appeared to have been read already, though the replies hadn't been sent out. He wondered what might happen if Lockhart put half as much effort into teaching a lesson as he clearly did maintaining his fan base.

'I'd better do the actual writing myself,' he said, 'but I think you can address the envelopes!' He gave Harry another beaming smile, obviously feeling he'd given him a bit of a treat.

Harry gave a weak attempt to upturn his mouth in reply, taking the first envelope from Lockhart. It was certainly going to be a long evening.

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Harry was several hours into the vile task when he heard something apart from Lockhart's tedious, self-indulgent prattle. It was a harsh, low voice, muffled as though the speaker were behind a thin wall.

' _Come ... come to me..._ '

Harry started, looking up and accidentally blotting the address on his envelope.

' _Let me rip you... Let me tear you ... Let me kill you…_ '

Harry gave a small cry of shock, the quill slipping from his fingers and sending a harsh line through Gladys Gudgeon's address.

'Harry?' said Lockhart, with a little jump of his own. 'Goodness – what is it?'

'That voice!' hissed Harry, his own much higher than usual. 'Who was that?'

Lockhart looked blankly at him, dumbfounded. 'I beg your pardon?'

'There was a voice!' Harry insisted. 'Just now – I heard it. He said he was going to kill someone!'

Lockhart looked completely nonplussed. 'There wasn't anyone else here, Harry,' he said, his tone good-natured again and a tad condescending. 'Perhaps you are becoming tired… it's nearly eleven. I suppose I've kept you long enough.' He put a finishing flourish on his letter and sent it flying to the top of the pile with a wave of his wand. 'Come, I'll walk you back to your common room. Wouldn't want you to get in trouble again for being in the corridors after curfew.' He gave Harry a roguish wink.

Harry, still straining to hear, gave a distracted shake of his head. 'N-no, professor, that's alright.' He said, getting to his feet and stuffing his quill hastily back into his bag. 'I'm not far anyway.'

Before Lockhart could call him back, he hastened to the door and out into the corridor. He looked around, trying to listen for the mysterious voice again. But the long corridor was silent. Harry was confused – how could the speaker have ducked out of sight already? Had he gone into one of the other classrooms, in search of his victim? Why, though? It was very late… all of the students would be in the dormitories; the staff in their offices or their personal quarters.

He started to make his way toward Gryffindor Tower, still straining his ears for an out-of-place speaker. _No_ , he thought. _Nobody would be out at this hour… well, nobody except maybe –_

'Potter!'

As if in answer to his thoughts, Harry heard the unmistakable sneering tone of his Potions master calling from up the corridor. Snape had just rounded the corner.

'What are you doing wandering the castle at this hour?' Snape snapped, coming toward Harry with his robes billowing out behind him. 'Out for a midnight stroll, are we?' He put his hands on his hips, staring down at Harry with his piercing black eyes.

'No sir,' said Harry, trying to show his innocence in his eyes. 'I've just left detention with Professor Lockhart.'

Snape scowled, still glaring distrustfully down at him.

'Honest, professor,' said Harry. 'You can ask him – he's still in his office. Or Professor McGonagall, she gave me the assignment. She'll tell you I was supposed to be there.'

Snape huffed, apparently very disappointed to have missed a perfect opportunity for further punishment. Seeming reluctant to let Harry go so easily, he gave him a disdainful once over. 'What has Professor Lockhart had you doing, Potter?'

'Helping him address fanmail replies, sir,' answered Harry promptly.

Snape's scowl deepened. 'Indeed,' he said, sarcasm dripping from each syllable. 'I fail to see how addressing _fanmail_ could have left one so pale and perspiring. Surely for one so accustomed to celebrity, you would be used to such activity by now?'

Harry gave him a glare of his own, feeling his anger rise. 'I haven't ever received fanmail, Professor,' he said indignantly, 'And it wasn't the detention. It was when I –'

He broke off, suddenly wary. A part of him really wanted to tell someone about the voice – what if the speaker was dangerous? Another part of him, however, wondered if he _hadn't_ imagined the whole thing… after all, Lockhart had seemed genuinely ignorant of any murderous murmurs, and he hadn't seen any ominous figures in the corridor. He wasn't sure Snape was the person to confide in about this sort of thing, in any case.

'I'm just tired, professor,' he lied after a moment, trying to sound sincere. Snape did not seem convinced. He stepped closer to Harry, his gaze intensifying. Unnerved, Harry quickly broke eye contact, staring at a button on Snape's awfully-close robes.

'I do not believe you, Potter,' Snape said, his voice dangerously low. 'What else has happened tonight?'

'Nothing, professor.' Harry said, addressing the button. 'I was just anxious to get back to the dormitory.'

Snape stepped back, looking distrustful. Harry remained defiantly silent.

'Very well,' Snape said. 'I will take your word for it… _this_ time. Hurry off to bed then. And do _not_ let me catch you loitering in the corridors. If you do not take yourself immediately to Gryffindor Tower… I shall know, Potter.'

He gave Harry one last look of deep mistrust, and swept away.

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Potter was hiding something, Severus was certain. As he prowled the empty school on alert for miscreants, he contemplated the odd interaction. Potter hadn't been lying about the detention, he was sure. Minerva had mentioned that she'd set both boys a detention after their inglorious arrival halfway through the Welcoming Feast. _Answering fanmail_. What utter rubbish.

Although, he did want to have a word with Albus on that point… was the headmaster waylaying Potter's post? It seemed odd that the Boy Who Lived had never received a letter from some fanatic admirer….

But he'd digressed.

Lockhart was such a poor excuse for a wizard, let alone a professor. If any of the bumbling idiot's tales of heroism were accurate, Severus would poison himself.

But as unpleasant as an evening with Lockhart might have been for the brat, Severus highly doubted the tedium and mere exhaustion could account for the state the boy had been in tonight. Potter had been white as a ghost; unsteady, even sickly looking. He had the distinct appearance of someone who'd been frightened, badly. Severus couldn't imagine hours spent in the _professor's_ company could garner such a reaction from a gnome, let alone the Golden Boy. Potter had been lying.

Something was amiss.

Severus didn't know what. And he _hated_ an unsolved riddle.


	17. Enemies of the Heir, Beware

**A/N** : This chapter is rather short and heavy on canon (had to get the chamber open!)… so I have decided to post both Chapter 17 and Chapter 18 on the same day. Enjoy!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! I wanted to respond to your question… at this point, I think Severus is still trying to work through a whole mess of complicated feelings toward Harry. I think he's certainly beginning to see him in a different light (and has been ever since his arrival at the castle during the summer), but those thoughts are all wrapped up in hatred for his father, love for his mother, complicated feelings toward the headmaster… I think Snape is not really a guy who is, shall we say, 'in tune' with his own emotions (like many men, sadly) – it takes him a while to figure things out. We've seen sparks of Snape's softer side – both with Dumbledore and with Harry – but we're a little way off from a true softening of that particular relationship. From Harry's perspective, I think he is starting to see that there is more to Snape, but he has been terrified of him for over a year, and Snape has certainly never done much to cure that feeling. We won't see Severus in this chapter, but I think you'll see how this relationship starts to (slowly) change and develop over the course of this story – and its sequels. I hope I do it justice without moving it unrealistically fast.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 17: Enemies of the Heir, Beware**

The first month of term seemed to fly by for Harry. Soon September had ended, and October blew in with hurricane winds and driving rain that never seemed to let up. The chilly change in weather brought on a school-wide spate of colds and flu, and both Madam Pomfrey and the Heads of House were kept busy with the constant trickling in of ill students and staff to be tended. Harry had been lucky in avoiding the germs thus far, though he privately thought any of the Gryffindor team would be fortunate to miss pneumonia, the way Wood was working them out in the gale five days a week. Hermione had taught him a warming charm for his clothes that helped with the worst of the chill, but he still left the pitch shivering and drenched by the end of practice. Remembering the Slytherins on their perfect new Nimbus 2001s, however, he soldiered on determinedly.

After nearly two weeks of this routine, Professor McGonagall – who Harry noticed had been watching him nervously like he was a timed bomb over the past few days – finally put her foot down. Harry knew she wanted to beat Slytherin as badly as, or perhaps more so than, any of her players. So he was surprised to see her standing in the entrance hall as they made their way wearily in from the pitch late on Saturday afternoon, drenched through to the skin and dripping heavily. McGonagall had her hands on her hips and regarded them all with a stern expression.

'My classroom – all of you,' she said curtly. They sighed, but followed her the short way to the ground floor Transfiguration classroom, filing in as she held open the door. She wheeled to face them.

'You'll catch your death in that gale,' she said to them harshly.

'But professor!' Oliver cut in immediately, looking dumbstruck. 'We've got to train! We might face Slytherin in weather like this… and we have to win!'

'I am not saying you can't, Wood,' Professor McGonagall said, the corner of her mouth twitching. 'But none of you will be much use to Gryffindor if you come down with flu. I _insist_ that you _all_ take a measure of Pepper-Up, just to be safe.'

She waved her wand in a circle, and seven smoking goblets appeared on the desk before her. 'Drink up.'

They all grumbled, but took the goblets resignedly. Harry, who had never had Pepper-Up before, was pleasantly surprised to find the potion was not nearly as disagreeable as most of the other draughts he'd been forced to take since his arrival at the castle this summer. The brew was hot and a bit spicy as it went down his throat, but the heaviness the rain had left in his head instantly cleared, and he felt as though he'd been warmed from the inside out. Looking around, he saw many of his teammates with expressions of chagrin, steam pouring heavily from their ears. McGonagall nodded, satisfied.

'Thank you. Now, up to the Tower, and into some dry clothes for goodness sake,' she said, shooing them toward the door. Harry made to follow, but McGonagall placed a hand on his arm. 'Not you, Potter – I want a quick word.'

The others looked curiously at Harry, but left him in their Head of House's company. When the door had closed behind Alicia Spinnet, Professor McGonagall spun to face him.

'Are you sure you're feeling well, Harry?' she said, looking a bit anxious. She brushed back his fringe and put a hand on his forehead. Harry was confused.

'Yes, of course, Professor. I'm fine,' he said.

McGonagall withdrew her hand, looking satisfied. 'You don't feel feverish,' she said. 'But I worry about you out there in that weather so frequently, especially after your illness this summer.'

Harry shrugged. 'We have to train, professor. It's not so bad. Hermione taught me a warming charm for my clothes.'

McGonagall gave him a small smile. 'Ms Granger is a very clever girl,' she said in approval. 'But I want you to tell me immediately if you start to feel poorly.'

Harry rolled his eyes. 'I will, professor. But really, I'm fine.'

McGonagall looked stern again. 'Do not cheek me, Harry. All seven of you were chilled already, or the potion would not have caused that amusing side effect. And _you_ do not have the best track record of admitting you are unwell.' She softened her expression a bit, cupping his cheek with her palm. 'I just want you to take care of yourself.'

Harry nodded reluctantly. 'Yes, ma'am. I will, and I apologise.'

'Very well,' said McGonagall, releasing his face. 'You may go. And do try and enjoy the week-end a little, won't you?'

Harry grinned. 'Yes, ma'am. Thank you.' He scurried from the room.

Which was how he came to be found in a fourth floor corridor, alone, on his way to Gryffindor tower, still dripping all over the place and wet through to the bone, by an irate Argus Filch.

Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker, was one of Harry's least favourite people in the castle. He was a cruel and bitter man, whose life's goal seemed to be terrorising students and continuing his epic battle for supremacy with Peeves, the poltergeist. He and his mangy cat, Mrs Norris, prowled the school in search of troublemaking, and Harry had been caught by both on multiple occasions. Still, he couldn't see what he'd done wrong this time – it was the middle of a Saturday, he wasn't breaking curfew, and he was hardly causing mayhem on his solitary stroll back to the Tower.

Filch approached in a state of clear anger. He was nearly shaking with rage, and seemed to be fighting a cold himself. His great bulbous nose was red and dripping, and his swollen eyes bugged from his face as he glared down at Harry.

'Thought you'd spread muck and water all over the castle, did you, boy?' Filch growled, reaching Harry at last.

'I – what?' asked Harry in confusion.

'Trekked all over the place, didn't you? Filthy and dripping… I've already had to scrub off the tile in the entrance hall, and now it's all over the staircases, the ground floor, and this corridor as well. What were you doing – running through the castle trying to make more work for me?' He grabbed Harry's arm roughly as he spoke, beginning to drag him away down the corridor.

'I – no, of course not!' Harry protested, trying to shake the caretaker off. Filch only gripped him harder. Harry was sure he would bruise. 'I was just coming back from a meeting with Professor McGonagall, sir.'

'A likely story!' Filch snarled, spittle raining disgustingly down on Harry's face. 'We'll see how well you like making mess and mayhem after I'm through with you!'

Filch dragged Harry all the way down to the first floor, where he opened a dingy looking office door. He shoved Harry roughly through the entrance.

'Sit!' he growled. Harry fell into the solitary chair in front of Filch's desk, wondering if this day could get any worse. Whatever horror Filch had in store for him, Harry was sure he wouldn't want to face it.

Filch was halfway through a tirade about the different punishments at his disposal when a muffled crash sounded from above them. Harry rather thought a bit of dust had shaken loose from the ceiling. Filch snarled something about Peeves, barked at Harry to stay put, and strode from the room in high temper.

Waiting for Filch was boring, after a few minutes spent stewing on one's potential punishment. Harry looked around the office, trying to distract himself. His eyes landed on a glossy violet envelope. The envelope was open on the desk, a pamphlet of some sort peeking out of one corner. The front of the envelope read 'Kwikspell' in elaborate gold script. Intrigued, Harry reached for it.

The pamphlet detailed seemingly fantastic stories about witches and wizards who had learned basic magic by means of a postal course. Harry was curious – if Filch had ordered this information… did that mean he was not a qualified wizard? Come to think of it, Harry had never seen Filch _perform_ any magic since he'd started at the school. The teachers were quick to do so, both in their classrooms and in the corridors. But he couldn't even recall ever seeing Filch hold a wand…

Shuffling footsteps and a gleeful muttering told Harry the man himself was approaching the office door again. Harry, still holding the Kwikspell information, panicked slightly. He hastily shoved the pamphlet back into the envelope, and tossed it with blind hope back toward Filch's desk. Too late, he noticed he'd missed its original location by several feet.

Filch burst into the office, cackling madly at Mrs Norris.

'We'll have him out this time, my sweet,' he crooned at her. 'Dumbledore will be very angry – that vanishing cabinet was a valuable artefact.'

He looked up then, into Harry's guilty face. His eyes darted immediately from the child to his desk, and alighted on the hastily discarded Kwikspell envelope. His face went from ruddy to pasty white, and then through red again to deep purple. It would have been comical if Harry wasn't one hundred percent sure he was about to be murdered.

' _What_ – How _dare_ you –'

Filch was sputtering, turning on Harry with a mad gleam in his eye. Harry pushed his chair back a fraction from the angry man.

'What, sir?' he asked, trying his best to sound innocent.

'Did you read it?' Filch spat through gritted teeth.

'Read what sir?'

'My private – not that it's for me, of course. Holding it for a friend… but still, if you've read –'

'I don't know what you're talking about, sir,' Harry lied, quickly.

Filch considered him for a moment, still apoplectic. Finally, he swallowed audibly. 'Very well. You – may go. I have to write up Peeves' infraction. Just… just go, Potter.'

Harry scrambled to his feet and past Filch out the door as quickly as he could. He felt slightly bad about reading Filch's post… but not nearly as grateful as he felt to escape from the caretaker's lair without punishment. _That_ had to be a Hogwarts first.

Just as he'd started up the corridor, however, he ran into Nearly Headless Nick.

'Did it work, Mr Potter?' the ghost asked.

'Er, hello Nick,' Harry said, glancing over his shoulder in the hopes that Filch wouldn't come bursting out in a change of heart. 'Sorry, did what work?'

Nick had a gleam in his eye, not unlike that which Harry often admired in Fred and George.

'I saw you being dragged off by Mr Filch,' he said. 'He's been in a terrible mood this week. He's got flu, and I've heard the third year Potions students were especially incompetent yesterday. Apparently, he spent most of the afternoon scrubbing out the dungeon.'

'Wait,' said Harry, suddenly suspicious. 'You're not telling me that _you_ dropped that Vanishing Cabinet just now?'

'Alas, no,' Nick said, mournfully. 'As a mere spectre… I cannot interact with most objects in the physical world. There are those, however, who exist between the worlds… poltergeists, for example.'

'Peeves!' Harry exclaimed, suddenly understanding. 'Yeah, Filch thought it was him.'

Nearly Headless Nick inclined his head. 'I managed to… persuade Peeves to drop the cabinet. I hoped the incident might distract Mr Filch from punishing you.'

'Yeah, it did!' said Harry, laughing a bit. 'Thanks, Nick!'

'It was not a problem,' said Nick. Harry thought he seemed rather down – more mournful than usual, even for a ghost.

'Er- is anything bothering you, Nick?' Harry asked.

'Oh, nothing in particular, dear boy,' said Nick airily. 'It's just that I have received some rather upsetting post… but it's nothing to trouble you with.'

Harry persisted, however, and at last the ghost relented. 'I have been wanting for some time to join a group – the Headless Hunt,' he confided. 'It is a gathering of spirits whose heads have parted company with their bodies, and who occasionally ride together and participate in group activities. Their leader, however, does not believe I fulfil their _requirements_ , as my own head remains pitifully attached through a bit of skin and sinew.'

'Er, right,' said Harry, feeling a bit sickened as Nick demonstrated the point. 'Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked, feeling he rather owed the Gryffindor ghost a favour.

'I do not – well…' Nick looked suddenly thoughtful. 'Perhaps you would consent to put in a good word for me? I am having a Death Day party on Hallowe'en.' He drew himself up importantly. 'I am hopeful that this group will make an appearance… perhaps you could attend, and speak with them on my behalf? You would be welcome to bring Mr Weasley and Ms Granger as well, if you like.'

'Oh!' said Harry. He didn't really want to miss the Hallowe'en feast… but then again, he definitely owed the ghost. 'Oh, er, yeah. Alright. I'll come.'

Nick beamed at him. 'Excellent!' he said, looking much more cheerful. 'Well, I suppose I better be off. I shall see you on the 31st of October.' He doffed his hat at Harry, nearly sending his head toppling over again.

'Yeah, see you then,' said Harry, trying to sound enthusiastic.

He left the Gryffindor ghost and made his way down the corridor, toward the staircase. Just as he was rounding the corner, Harry crashed into something heavy and warm. He bucked back a little, and saw he'd knocked a red-headed first year to the ground.

'Sorry, Ginny,' Harry said, helping her to her feet again. He noticed her ears were still smoking slightly, and guessed that Percy had succeeded in his recent efforts to bully her into taking some Pepper-Up Potion as well. She'd been rather pale lately.

The little girl nodded at him, muttering a very soft thanks as she regained her feet. Despite the smoking ears, Harry still thought Ginny looked drawn and peaky. She was thinner than he remembered from the summer, and she had slight purpling under her eyes, like perhaps she'd been having trouble sleeping. Harry noticed her hand, when he helped her from the ground, was icy cold.

'Er – Ginny, are you feeling alright?' he asked, tentatively.

She nodded. 'Oh yes, I'm fine, thanks.' She spoke to the ground at Harry's feet, clearly embarrassed.

'It's just…' Harry struggled to find the right words. He'd never had siblings before, but he felt a bit like Ginny's family. Ron was his best mate, after all, and the Weasleys had been great to him this summer. He felt a certain protectiveness for Ginny – a need to make sure she was ok. Still, Ginny always avoided conversation with him. He didn't want to make her more shy by prying.

'I know it can be difficult for some of the first years, adjusting to life at Hogwarts,' he said, trying to sound comforting. 'You seem a bit upset, lately. I just… I hope you know you can talk to me, or to Ron, if there's anything bothering you.'

She gave him a very small smile. 'Thanks, Harry,' she said, braving a glance up at him. 'But really – I'm ok.'

Harry nodded. 'Alright then, do you want to head back to the common room?' he asked her, gesturing toward the staircase. Ginny looked awkward.

'Er – actually, I needed to do a few things first. See you there later?'

'Yeah, alright,' said Harry. Ginny scurried away again.

As Harry made for the staircase, he saw her duck into the loo at the end of the corridor.

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'A Death Day party?' said Hermione, sounding intrigued, as Harry recounted the events of the afternoon to her and Ron in the common room after he'd showered and changed. 'That sounds fascinating – we'll learn so much!'

Ron, who was grudgingly editing an essay on Engorgement Charms for Flitwick that Harry and Hermione had already finished, gave a snort of disagreement.

'I think it sounds depressing,' he grumbled, scratching out a sloppy sentence. 'We'll miss the feast if we go, Harry. It's always the best food of the year.'

'Not necessarily,' Harry disagreed. 'We could always head up to the Great Hall afterward.'

'Exactly!' said Hermione huffily, putting aside one of the Lockhart books she'd been perusing and pulling Ron's abused parchment toward her. He gave her a grateful smile.

'Well, I still vote we skip it. But if you two really want to go so badly, I guess I'm in.'

Harry couldn't help but feel Ron's pain a bit by the time Hallowe'en rolled around. The smells of the delicious feast tempted them mockingly as they made their way away from the rest of the students, trudging down the chilly steps to the dungeons. To make matters worse for his rumbling stomach, Harry quickly realised that ghost parties did not cater to hungry living humans. The banquet table set up in the cold and eerily-lit dungeon was piled high, but the food was mouldy, rotten and putrid. He and Ron nearly retched as they tore themselves hurriedly away, barely dodging out of the line of fire as Peeves began to chuck decaying peanuts at their heads.

They re-joined Hermione, who was looking very awkward in discussion with the mournful ghost of a young girl Harry had never seen before. The girl was pearly white and transparent, as all the Hogwarts ghosts were, with hair in low bunches and large round spectacles. As Harry and Ron approached them, the ghost girl gave a dramatic sob of misery and floated away, leaving Hermione looking both slightly chagrined and annoyed.

'What's up?' Ron asked as they reached her, looking past Hermione after the fleeing ghost.

'Oh, nothing,' she said impatiently. 'It's just Moaning Myrtle.'

'Moaning Myrtle?' repeated Harry in confusion.

'That's the ghost I was talking to,' Hermione explained. 'She's impossible, really. So easily offended.'

'I've never met her before,' said Harry in surprise. It was particularly strange, since over the summer he'd seen or spoken to many of the Hogwarts ghosts – they were easier to spot, when the castle was devoid of its hundreds of student inhabitants.

Hermione waved a hand. 'I'm not surprised. She doesn't usually leave her toilet.'

'Her _toilet_?' said Ron, looking dumbfounded.

'Yes,' Hermione confirmed. 'She haunts the girls' lavatory on the first floor. Nobody ever goes in there, if it can be helped. She's always crying and moaning from her cubicle, and sometimes she floods the place.' She shook her head in exasperation. Harry, on the other hand, suddenly remembered something.

'That's odd,' he said, turning to Ron. 'I saw your sister in that corridor a couple weeks ago. She went in that loo.'

Ron shrugged. 'It's her first year, isn't it? She probably doesn't know yet.'

Hermione looked a little sad, and shook her head. 'I doubt it, Ron,' she said. 'Most of the girls learn about Moaning Myrtle in their first week – it's practically an orientation to the school. But she's guaranteed some privacy in there… it's a good place to go, really, if you need a bit of time alone.'

Ron was staring to look awkward.

'You really should talk to her, you know,' Hermione pressed.

'Hermione – what am I supposed to say?' Ron grumbled defensively. 'Anyway, she's probably just homesick. She's the baby. She'll get over it in time.'

Hermione bristled at once, snapping back at Ron. Harry privately thought Hermione was probably right, remembering the way Ginny had appeared in the corridor when he'd run into her that day. But he didn't want to fuel the argument.

'Look,' he said, breaking into their squabbling. 'Let's just head up to the feast. If we hurry, we should still make pudding.'

They nodded, still looking daggers at each other, and Harry led the way toward the stairs after a hasty goodbye to Nearly Headless Nick, who was looking extra mournful, as Sir Patrick and the Headless Hunt had yet to show. As they climbed the stone steps, however, Harry was suddenly brought to a halt.

' _Let me rip… Let me tear… Let me kill…_ '

He stopped climbing suddenly, his blood chilling much more than it ever had in the frigid, ghost-filled dungeon. Hermione, who'd been behind him, crashed into his back, nearly sending herself backward down the stairs. Ron steadied her hurriedly.

'Harry! What –'

'Shh!' Harry said. 'I'm trying to listen,' he whispered. Ron fell silent, and he and Hermione stared at Harry in apparent confusion.

' _So hungry… for so long…_ '

'The voice!' Harry exclaimed, half-terrified, half-excited. He turned to Ron and Hermione, who both stared blankly back.

'What voice, Harry?' asked Hermione.

'That voice – from detention! I just heard it again. Can't –' he looked between them, his excitement fading a little. 'Can't you hear it?'

They shook their heads, looking at him with concern.

' _Blood… I need BLOOD…_ '

Harry was pulled from the conversation as the voice began to move… upward. Perhaps the speaker was ahead of them on the staircase? He started forward at a run, Ron and Hermione hurrying behind him.

'Harry, where are you going?' Ron shouted, a bit breathless, as they tore up the corridor at the landing.

'It's moving!' Harry called back. 'It's going to kill someone!'

He could still hear the strange muttering, going fainter as the speaker seemingly continued upward, though they were no longer on the stairs. Harry tore for the grand staircase in panic, taking the steps two at a time.

' _I smell blood… I SMELL BLOOD!_ '

The speaker seemed to be moving horizontally now, and the voice was faded with distance. Harry veered off the stairs at the next landing, trying to follow the sound. He was barely aware of Ron and Hermione trailing behind him – he was trying too hard to listen. The voice was no longer speaking.

As he turned a corner, Harry realised he was in the first floor corridor where he'd accidentally knocked Ginny down. As he proceeded down the long marble passage, his trainers were suddenly drenched.

'What?' he said in confusion, coming to a halt and looking down. The far end of the corridor was one massive puddle.

'It's Myrtle,' Hermione whispered, coming up alongside him and staring down at the water. 'I told you – she floods the loo. She must have come up here upset from the party.' As she said it, Harry could see that the water was flowing from under the closed lavatory door at the end of the corridor.

'Guys…' Ron's voice came from behind them, 'Look.'

He sounded scared. Harry wheeled around. Ron's gaze was focused on the left-hand stone wall of the corridor. Harry could suddenly feel his heart thrumming in his ears, his head reeling from the sight.

Filch's dusty grey cat, Mrs Norris, was hanging from torch bracket on the wall by her tail. She was stiff as a board, her yellow eyes wide and staring sightlessly. Below this nauseating sight was a message, written in what looked horribly like blood. The words were still dripping.

 _The Chamber of Secrets Has Been Opened. Enemies of the Heir… Beware._


	18. Dual Duels with Draco

**A/N:** As promised… Chapter 18. I know 17 was quite short… this is quite long. Enjoy!

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 18: Dual Duels with Draco**

Severus was just leaving the feast with Minerva, Albus, and the other Heads of House when he realised something was very wrong. As they approached the staircase, many voices could be heard from a floor or two above, sounding panicked and excited. Far too many voices – considering that the Slytherins and Hufflepuffs had no need to climb the stairs at all.

'What on earth is going on?' Pomona asked, looking up at the stairs in confusion. Severus exchanged a look with Albus. Without a word, the headmaster made for the staircase, the other professors at the hem of his robes.

They found most of the school congregated on the first floor, blocking the entirety of the corridor and most of the landing. They all seemed to be focused on something at the end of the corridor, craning over each other for a better look. Albus parted the sea of students easily and Minerva and Severus followed in his wake, while Lockhart, Filius and Pomona attempted to chivvy the students closer to the stairs on their way to their common rooms.

As they managed to make their way to the front of the crowd, Severus saw that the students in the lead had left a semi-circle of space around a large puddle of water. Only three black-clad children were within this makeshift ring, a shouting ginger boy, a bushy-haired girl who looked terrified, and a small, skinny child, who was currently trying to balance on his tiptoes while a furious Argus Filch held him against the wall by the neck.

He should have guessed.

'Argus!' Albus snapped in a ringing voice upon reaching the scene.

He strode quickly for the caretaker and pulled him bodily from Potter. Minerva, who had splashed through at the headmaster's heels, caught the child as he was released, steadying him on his feet. She bent to examine his neck, where Severus could see red marks from the caretaker's grip. Behind him, somebody laughed.

He whirled about to see Draco Malfoy, smirking as he took in the sight of the cornered Gryffindors.

'Your common room is not in this corridor,' he said silkily, looking from Draco over the rest of his students, congregated near the front of the mass. 'To bed – now, all of you!'

The Slytherins looked disappointed to miss the fallout, but none dared disobey him. They turned resentfully to make their way down to the dungeons. Severus turned his glare on the rest of the huddled students, raising an eyebrow. They too scattered quickly from the area, leaving the three teachers, Filch, and Potter, Weasley and Granger alone in the flooded corridor.

Severus considered the scene – the bloody message on the wall, the stiff cat, and the terrified children. Both Weasley and Granger had joined Minerva around Potter, still white-faced. Dumbledore was detaching the dead cat from the torch bracket; Argus sobbing as he leaned against the marred wall.

'What has happened here?' Severus asked, staring down at the students with his most intimidating expression.

'Let's get out of the corridor, first, Severus,' Albus suggested, looking uncharacteristically fatigued.

'My office is nearest, headmaster,' said an unwelcome arrival. Severus rolled his eyes. Gilderoy Lockhart had apparently finished his duties with the other students and decided to join the excitement. 'I'm just upstairs. Happy to have everyone in, of course.'

'Thank you, Gilderoy,' said Albus, inclining his head.

The little group followed the headmaster to the office. Weasley was looking nervously between them, unwilling to meet Severus's gaze. Granger seemed almost as scared. Potter, meanwhile, still appeared quite shaken. Minerva kept a tight grip on his shoulder as they walked.

Gilderoy opened his office with a flourish, ushering them all inside. Severus nearly vomited. The entire office was plastered with posters of the Defence instructor, winking, flipping their hair, and smiling insipidly down upon the grouping.

Albus laid the cat's body on Gilderoy's desk, bending low over the animal. After a moment he looked up and caught Severus's eye, sending a brief mental message for him to come nearer. Severus obliged, leaving Lockhart prattling behind him and Minerva tending to the bruises on Potter's neck. He flung up a silent _muffliato_ as he joined the headmaster. It would be better to keep from increasing the caretaker's grating wails any further.

'Do you see?' Albus asked, giving the little diagnostic paper to Severus to review. Severus raised his eyebrow.

'Petrified?' he asked. 'Have you performed a restoration?'

Albus shook his head. 'She cannot be revived through a spell,' he said. 'I tried it immediately of course, but she was unresponsive. I do not think it was a spell that put her in this state.'

'You think it the work of some poison?' Severus asked, sceptical. 'I rather doubt it… there are not many brews I know of that put the drinker into a state of petrification. Living Death is probably the closest, but while bodily functions are entirely paused, rigour mortis is not an associated side effect of the potion. Although it is supposed to be used on humans only… perhaps the cat somehow managed to drink it? I could not know how the effects would differ in animal administration.'

Albus shook his head again. 'I doubt it was a potion that did this,' he said. 'There is no evidence of magical substance in the diagnostic, and even Living Death leaves a trace. No, I suspect that this was not human magic at all.'

Severus stared at him. 'You think it is true – the message on the wall?' he asked, very quietly, even though he knew his spell would keep their words confidential. 'You suspect the Chamber of Secrets is in fact open?'

Albus sighed. 'I do not know,' he admitted. 'The circumstances of Mrs Norris's injuries lead me to believe that it is possible, though it is hardly conclusive proof. However, I do not see how. I have it on very good authority that the only known heir of Salazar Slytherin is far from Hogwarts at this time, as you well know. And I doubt any other could succeed in releasing the Chamber's horror.'

Severus nodded, deep in thought. Albus waved a hand through the air, taking down the privacy charm.

'Mrs Norris is not dead, Argus,' he said, his tone soft. Filch stopped his horrible crying, looking up as though hardly daring to believe Albus's words. 'She has been petrified.'

'He did it!' Filch spat, pointing a finger at Potter. 'He's been waiting for weeks, biding his time. He attacked Mrs Norris!'

'No second year student could have done this,' Albus said in a soothing tone. 'The magic that was used would have taken skill well beyond what we –'

'He did it! I know it!' Filch insisted, gaining his feet and lunging for the child. Weasley and Granger each took one of Potter's arms, dragging him back a bit from the caretaker. Minerva, meanwhile, placed her body between the boy and the angry man, her eyes flashing dangerously.

'Do not take one more step toward Mr Potter, Argus,' she said threateningly. 'Or I swear I will hex you permanently.'

Filch stomped a foot angrily. 'But it had to have been him, professor!' he bellowed in frustration. 'He's been making trouble since he got here. And now he knows… he knows I'm a… a squib.'

'I would never touch Mrs Norris!' Potter put in indignantly, speaking for the first time. 'And I haven't a clue what a "squib" is, either!'

Filch opened his mouth to shout back, but Albus broke in.

'Argus, we will be able to cure Mrs Norris. We have mandrakes in the greenhouses this year – a mandrake restorative draught should be able to reanimate your cat.'

'I would be delighted to do it, headmaster!' Lockhart said enthusiastically. 'I've brewed a mandrake draught before after all – countless times!'

'If anyone will be handling highly dangerous plants and producing a delicate and potentially life-saving potion,' said Severus quietly, 'I believe it will be the Potions master at this school. I do not recall seeing that qualification on your application to teach.'

He was satisfied to see Lockhart's face fall slightly. Potter and Weasley exchanged curiously gleeful looks.

'Well,' said Albus, clapping his hands together. 'Professor Lockhart, if you don't mind allowing us to intrude a little longer in your personal space, I would like to speak with the children a bit further. Perhaps you would consent to ensure that Mr Filch gets back to his own chambers safely?'

'Of course, headmaster!' the man said cheerily. He took Argus by the arm and pulled him from the room, looking very important in his assigned role. Albus waited until the two had left the office, then motioned for the students to have a seat.

'Are you all alright?' he asked immediately, when the three had sunk into chairs. They nodded back at him, though their faces were still wary.

'I don't suppose you could tell us what happened to the cat?' Minerva asked, looking closely at the trio. They all shook their heads.

'No, professor,' Granger said. 'We just found her like that, I swear.'

'Perhaps the timing was nothing but coincidence…' said Severus delicately. He saw Potter's face brighten. He smirked at him. 'But in my experience,' he continued, 'Coincidence is usually a term used by those too lazy to work out the connection between two facts. Fact one: you were far from the feast, all on your own, in a corridor where there is nothing to draw interest but several disused classrooms and a girls' lavatory. Fact two: an animal was attacked, and an ominous message left on the wall. Somehow, I doubt very much there is no relation between these strange phenomena.'

Potter looked scared again. He swallowed. 'We were, er, at another party, professor,' he admitted.

'Another party?' Severus asked, raising one eyebrow. 'Do tell, Potter.'

Potter proceeded to regale them all with the story of the Gryffindor ghost's Death Day fete, and the trio's attendance.

'But why go up to the first floor corridor, then?' he asked as Potter took a breath in his tale. 'Why not attend the feast afterward, if you left the Death Day party before it had let out?'

'We – er – weren't hungry,' the Weasley boy put in, just as his stomach gave an audible growl. Severus leered at him, triumphant.

'Clearly,' he mocked, sarcastically.

'Harry?' Dumbledore pressed, looking intently at the boy. Potter gazed into the headmaster's eyes for several long moments, apparently contemplating his answer.

'I heard something,' he said at last. 'As we got to the entrance hall. It was a weird sound, and I wanted to investigate. Ron and Hermione came after me.'

'Harry,' the headmaster said, looking very seriously down at Potter. 'What have I told you about acting before thinking? You should have come for me, or one of the teachers, right away.'

'I know,' Potter said quietly, looking down again. 'But honestly, sir, I didn't realise what was going on at the time. I didn't know it was anything like what we found in that corridor.'

Albus considered the three for another few moments in silence. 'Very well,' he said at last. 'I know none of you were responsible for tonight's events. You may go. Minerva – perhaps you could see to it that they have something to eat, before bed?'

'Certainly, headmaster,' she said, getting to her feet. She ushered her students toward the office door, still chiding them gently for running headlong into danger once more.

'You cannot tell me you believe he was forthcoming, headmaster?' Severus asked, rounding on Albus the moment Minerva had closed the door. 'Potter was lying!'

'Not lying, exactly,' the headmaster countered. 'I believe he was frightened. But he was telling the truth about the general facts. He was following a sound into that corridor when they found the cat.'

Severus studied Albus's face for a moment. 'You legilimised him,' he accused – half admiring, half resentful. Albus would have _murdered_ him if _he'd_ done that to the boy in his presence.

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'It was unintentional, I assure you. But one becomes more in tune with a pupil's mind, if he has been his master in the study of mind magic. You ought to know this.' Severus nodded once, begrudgingly. 'And in any case, it was hard to miss. Harry's thoughts were screaming much louder than his words at the time.'

'And what did they say, Albus?' Severus asked, teeth still gritted.

'Harry was not following a random sound, exactly,' said the headmaster, seeming deep in thought. 'He was following a voice.'

Severus stared.

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The next few weeks were filled with gossip and rumour mills at Hogwarts. Most of the students were on edge, swapping bits of theory on the strange events of Hallowe'en, and debating the legend of the Chamber of Secrets with one another.

Harry still felt a little unsure about his decision not to give Dumbledore and McGonagall the full details of what had transpired on Hallowe'en. Part of him wanted to tell them about the strange, murderous voice. But he was too afraid of the consequences… as Ron said, hearing voices nobody else could was a bad sign, even for wizards.

He was distracted from his inner turmoil when Hermione finally broached the question about the Chamber of Secrets to Professor Binns in their history of magic lesson at the start of the second week of November. Professor Binns recounted much of what Harry had already learned from Dumbledore that summer – with one glaring change. According to Binns, the legend was that Slytherin had fallen out with the other founders over their admittance of Muggle-born students to Hogwarts. Before leaving, he had constructed a hidden chamber in the castle, and concealed a monster inside it which would have the ability to 'purge' the school of Muggle-born pupils. Only the Heir of Slytherin would be able to release it.

Binns had insisted the story was nothing but fanciful myth, but the students seemed to disagree. Many spent most of their free time discussing possible candidates for Slytherin's heir. Ron was convinced it was Draco Malfoy, and Harry and Hermione were inclined to agree. Hermione – who was deeply affected by the idea of a student going after all the Muggle-borns in the school – insisted that they should do something to discover Malfoy's guilt. She suggested that they try and trick Malfoy into telling them his secret, by use of the Polyjuice Potion – a difficult brew that would allow them to transform into two of the Slytherin students and sneak into their common room. Ron was all for it, though Harry rather felt they'd be pushing their luck. He and Ron were on probation already with their disastrous arrival.

Hermione, however, could not be dissuaded. And if Harry was honest with himself, he would love to catch Draco in the wrong. Some careful flattery and a white-lie later, they had secured a note from Lockhart to retrieve _Moste Potente Potions_ from the restricted section of the library – which was the book that Hermione said the receipt for Polyjuice Potion would be in. She personally volunteered to steal the restricted ingredients from Snape's private stores, though Harry felt his own task of distracting the professor while Hermione sneaked into his office was far more dangerous. Snape would never be able to _prove_ he'd thrown a firework into Gregory Goyle's cauldron – he didn't think – but the furious look on his face as he'd pulled the wreckage from the cauldron and the glare he'd shot right at Harry told him there would be dire retribution anyway.

All in all, Harry's mind was quite troubled already as he made his way out onto the quidditch pitch for their first match on the final Saturday in November.

He hadn't slept much the night before, dwelling on his narrow escape in Potions and the fact that the Slytherins would all be riding the best brooms in the world. He was more nervous for this match then he'd ever been for quidditch in his life. As the crisp autumn breeze whipped his hair around his face, Harry tried desperately to instil a bit of confidence in himself. Malfoy might have a better broom, but Harry _knew_ he was the better player. So, if Malfoy could fly faster, he'd just have to play smarter.

And he did.

Harry caught the snitch, right out from behind Malfoy's ear. It wiped the arrogant smirk right off the blond boy's face.

Unfortunately, Harry hadn't banked on having to dodge a rogue bludger throughout the match. It had hit him, hard, just as he'd spotted the snitch. As Harry landed, victorious but blinded by the pain in his clearly-broken arm, he'd promptly passed out.

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'Why didn't you tell me?' Harry said, looking very upset.

Albus had nearly flown down to the hospital wing when Minerva's patronus had arrived, bringing news that Harry had been injured in the quidditch match. He'd been waylaid in the corridor outside by the irate Gryffindor Head, screeching about Lockhart's monumental incompetence and how Harry was going to have to stay the night now, because Madam Pomfrey needed to regrow the bones the Defence teacher had managed to vanish. She'd been so distraught by the situation that the mediwitch had kicked her out of the wing to tend to Harry, tasking her with awaiting the headmaster. It had taken Albus nearly five minutes to calm her down, and only then he had managed to shake her by suggesting she carry to Lockhart the message that the headmaster would like to see him that evening in his office. By the look in her eye as she'd strode off, Albus privately thought there would be little of the celebrity left by the time their meeting arrived.

Albus had entered the wing in some panic himself, though he knew from Minerva that Harry would be just fine. He found the boy in the last bed on the right, looking faintly nauseated after taking the vile potion, and thoroughly put-out at his incarceration. He was the hospital's only occupant. The little golden snitch Harry had managed to catch fluttered through the air above his bed.

Albus had taken a seat next to him immediately, carding his hair in an effort to relax the child. He had been so busy this month; he had barely seen the child since the fateful events of Hallowe'en.

'Tell you what, Harry?' Albus asked, perplexed. He ceased the smoothing of Harry's hair, looking down at him in confusion.

'When you gave me all that information on Hogwarts – the history before you taught me Occlumency… you never said that Slytherin and Gryffindor fell out over Muggle-borns. You never said he'd built some sort of secret chamber in the castle!'

Albus considered Harry. He seemed irrationally angry. Perhaps it was an effect of the Skele-gro.

'It was not relevant to our discussion at the time, Harry,' Albus said. 'I was already overloading you with information. I did not see a need to muddy the waters. Of course, I could have no idea that you would be facing the situation we are all in at the school this year.'

'But I would have _wanted_ to know!' Harry insisted, uncharacteristically whingy. 'I wouldn't have wanted to learn his magic if I'd known what kind of person he was. That… what he wanted to do… that's awful.'

Albus brushed a hand over the child's head again, trying to sooth him. 'One had nothing to do with the other, Harry,' he said. 'You needed to learn Occlumency. And learning a magical art does not mean you are somehow endorsing Slytherin's views – on that, or any other subject.'

'I shouldn't have learned it,' Harry said stubbornly. He turned away from Albus, pulling his head out of reach. The headmaster sighed.

'You are tired, in pain, and overwrought by the day,' he said softly. 'You are not thinking clearly right now, Harry.'

'I'm fine,' said Harry, petulantly.

Albus frowned. 'I cannot give you a dreamless sleep potion with the Skele-gro in your system – it would inhibit the potion's work. And unfortunately, you cannot take any painkillers after you have taken Skele-gro either. But I can put you in a light sleep with a charm. It will help you get some rest, and things will look better tomorrow.'

Harry slowly looked back at him. 'I'm not being stupid,' he said, emphatically.

'No, Harry, you are not,' Albus agreed quietly. 'Perhaps I should have told you more. I am sorry. But please, let me help you rest for now.'

Harry played with the edge of the sheet for a moment. 'OK,' he said at last.

Albus put a hand on Harry's forehead, and one on his chest. ' _Somnulus_ ,' he said softly. Harry's eyes fluttered closed.

Shortly after Harry drifted off, Minerva re-entered the ward. She came up to him silently, resting a hand on Albus's shoulder.

'He'll be fine,' she said in comfort.

'I know,' Albus said. 'But it does not change the fact that the sport is unreasonably dangerous. I should have been in the stands today.'

'You could not have done anything to prevent the injury, Albus,' Minerva said softly. 'It's quidditch. People get hurt. _Students_ get hurt. It's a part of the game. And besides,' she paused, her voice losing a bit of its sweetness as her anger at her colleague resurfaced. 'Harry was far more damaged by his ineffectual professor than by the bludger today.'

'That is true,' Albus said gravely. 'I trust you've left him well enough intact for me to speak with this evening?' he asked, a playful twinkle in his eye.

'Of course,' said Minerva, looking affronted.

'Hmm,' Albus mused. He looked back at the sleeping child before them. 'It was lucky that Harry had already caught the snitch when he was hit. Severus must be so disappointed.'

'It serves him right,' said Minerva in satisfaction. 'Letting that child buy his way onto the team. But if you ask me, it was lucky Harry was able to _avoid_ being hit so long, the way that bludger was chasing him all game.'

'What do you mean?' asked Albus sharply, turning fully to face her.

'Someone tampered with it Albus,' said Minerva, very seriously. 'I haven't had a chance to investigate it fully – I was too busy trying to see to Harry. But Filius and Rolanda were going to take a look at it this afternoon. I don't think a student could have enchanted it; the magic involved would be highly advanced. Someone set the bludger to follow Harry. It never let up on him through the entire match. And the strange part is, Rolanda insists that all the balls were within regulation when she inspected them this morning.'

'How strange,' Albus said, thinking it through. 'And quite troubling. This is the third serious attempt on Harry's well-being since July, if you count the incident on the first of September.'

'Yes,' Minerva agreed heavily. 'But I can't imagine who could be behind it, especially considering his relative isolation this summer.'

Albus was quiet, deep in thought.

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Harry woke in the darkness of the hospital wing, very late in the night. The pain in his arm from the Skele-gro had intensified, and he immediately bit his lip to stifle a cry. In his disorientation, he thought at first that the pain was what had woken him.

Then he noticed that someone was sponging at his forehead.

'Professor?' he croaked hoarsely, turning toward the chair where Dumbledore had been when he'd drifted off.

But it was not Dumbledore.

'Dobby!' he said in surprise, a bit louder than he had intended. The house-elf, who had been standing on the edge of the chair alongside his bed, toppled back and over the arm in fright, knocking the bottle of Skele-gro from Harry's nightstand. Harry looked wildly toward the door to Madam Pomfrey's office – sure the noise would bring her running. But the door remained firmly closed.

'Harry Potter, sir,' Dobby greeted him, pulling himself back up from the floor and righting the fallen potion with a wave of his hand. His eyes were brimming with tears as he looked up at Harry.

'Dobby, what are you doing here?' asked Harry, looking warily at the flannel in Dobby's hand.

'Why, sir?' Dobby moaned, tears beginning to leak down his face. ' _Why_ did Harry Potter come back to school after Dobby warned him not to?'

'I _had to_ , Dobby,' Harry said firmly. 'You know that.'

'But he did not!' Dobby wailed. 'Harry Potter was safe. Safe – and away from this place. Dobby thought his bludger would –'

' _You_ made that bludger come after me?' said Harry angrily, sitting up a little in the bed. His healing arm protested the movement violently. 'It nearly killed me!'

Dobby's great eyes were wide. 'Dobby never meant to _kill_ Harry Potter, sir!' he insisted. 'No, no never kill. Dobby only wanted Harry Potter sent home – hurt too badly for school.'

But Harry was growing more suspicious. 'You tried to stop Ron and I coming back to Hogwarts, didn't you, Dobby?' he said quietly, staring at the tiny elf. ' _You_ stopped the barrier from letting us through!'

Dobby nodded tearfully. 'Yes, Harry Potter sir. But Dobby did not dream that Harry Potter would get to school another way,' he admitted, twisting the flannel nervously in his long fingers.

'And you made me ill over the summer too, didn't you!' Harry said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 'When you realised I was here?'

But Dobby shook his head now, looking confused. 'N-no, Harry Potter,' he said, 'Dobby did not. Dobby thought Harry Potter was at home for the summer… Is you saying, sir, that you was at _Hogwarts_ , after all Dobby's warnings?'

Harry sat back a bit, confused himself. He had been _sure_ , when the little creature admitted to the other two incidents, that Dobby had been responsible for the strange illness too. As angry as he'd been, it had been somewhat comforting to think he now knew the culprit. But apparently, that was still a mystery to solve.

'I told you, Dobby,' he said quietly. 'I have to be here. Hogwarts _is_ my home – now more than ever.'

The elf jumped up on Harry's bed, looking panicked. 'No, sir!' he squeaked. 'Harry Potter must go home, sir – he must leave the castle. These are dangerous times, sir.'

'But _why_ , Dobby?' Harry said, grasping the little elf's arm as he reached for the bedside lamp. 'Because of the Chamber of Secrets? Do you know something about it?'

Dobby shook his head, terrified. 'History will repeat itself, Harry Potter,' Dobby said, his own voice now a whisper. 'Darker days are coming, now that the Chamber is open once more –' he gave a sudden squeak of horror, and swung the fist Harry was not holding at his own temple. Harry quickly seized that too.

'What do you mean, "open once more"?' he asked, looking intently at the elf. 'This has happened _before_? But – who opened it? Who opened it last time?'

Dobby shook his head vigorously, trying to wrest free of Harry's grip. 'Dobby can't sir, Dobby cannot say.'

Suddenly, the tussle was interrupted by the sound of footsteps just outside the ward. Both Harry and Dobby froze, turning to stare at the hospital door. Harry could hear low voices, and the latch clicked as someone unlocked it with a charm.

'Dobby must go!' the little elf whispered, having used Harry's distraction to free himself at last. Harry turned to stop him, but with a _crack!_ , the elf had gone.

For a moment, Harry was frozen, hand outstretched over the spot where Dobby had vanished. But then the door of the ward began to push slowly inward, and he threw himself back onto the bed, tucking his legs quickly beneath the covers and feigning sleep, laid out on his side so he could peer through his eyelashes at the newcomers.

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Albus was troubled. The conversation with Harry had left him with much to think about. Had he truly done what was best for the boy, by giving him an edited version of Hogwarts' history? Was he in the right now, not to tell him that this trouble with the Chamber of Secrets was not a new occurrence? Should he tell him everything – tell him who the heir of Slytherin was?

His instinct was to keep quiet, for now. Harry was so young – impressionable and (mostly) innocent. He did not want Harry to judge magics, or wizards, by their association with a man long-dead and oft-misunderstood. He did not want to burden the child's mind with things that were far too complex for most adults to handle. And he did not want to open the door to more questions, when he himself was still searching for the answers.

And the boy already had too many troubles. They still had no idea who had been making attempts on his life since the summer, or precisely why. He was struggling with his nightmares. He had his schoolwork, and quidditch, and the added strain that all the students were feeling from the scare on Hallowe'en. And he was currently in Hospital Wing, recovering from yet another close shave. That was quite enough, for twelve years old.

Albus tossed in the bed. It was quite late – gone two – but he could not get to sleep. He wished Minerva were not so many floors below.

At last, he gave it up as a bad job for now. Perhaps he would take a quick stroll down to the kitchen, get himself some hot chocolate to settle his mind. Perhaps he would poke into the hospital wing on the way back, just to see for himself that Harry was still resting peacefully.

He got out of the bed and slipped into his house shoes, tying a spangled dressing gown over his nightshirt, and made his way out of his quarters. He was just coming down the steps to the third floor when he bumped, quite literally, into Minerva.

'Oh, Albus,' she said, pushing herself straight again. 'I'm so sorry – I've been distracted.' Albus saw that she too was in her nightclothes, her hair in a long plait over one shoulder.

'Understandable, my dear,' he said, putting a hand on her arm. 'Where were you off to, at this time of night?'

She blushed slightly. 'Up to see you, Albus,' she admitted softly. 'I was having trouble sleeping.'

'Alas, it seems to be contagious,' Albus said, his eyes twinkling fondly at her. 'I was headed for the kitchens myself, and then perhaps to check on Harry before trying for sleep again. Would you care to join me?'

She took his arm, and they set off down the stairs together. They were just passing the first floor landing when something in the corridor leading to the hospital wing caught the headmaster's eye. He pulled them to a sudden halt.

'Wha –' Minerva began, but she cut herself off as she too spied the huddled mass that had drawn Albus's attention. He drew his wand, and she copied.

Together, they cautiously approached the fallen figure, Albus glancing around the deserted corridor. The floor was quite silent, apart from their own breathing.

'Oh my goodness,' Minerva whispered as they drew close enough to see properly. 'It's Creevey!'

She threw herself down toward the child, her fingers flying to his throat to feel his pulse. Albus too had recognised the boy as the eager first year who had taken to following Harry around since the start of term. His face was hard to distinguish, as most of it was hidden by a large Muggle camera held out before him.

'I can't feel anything, Albus!' Minerva said desperately, kneeling back on her heels. 'Do you think he's –'

'No,' said Albus quietly. 'I think he has been petrified.' She looked up at him from the ground, very scared.

'Come,' Albus said, bending down toward them. 'Take his head and shoulders. We must get him quickly to hospital wing, before anyone else disturbs us.'

Working together, they awkwardly managed to hoist the child's stiff body from the floor, Albus taking his legs and Minerva his shoulders. The child was not heavy, but the petrification had left him as inflexible as marble.

'Who could have done this?' Minerva said in a low voice, as she and Albus carted Colin Creevey the short distance to the hospital wing.

'I am not sure,' Albus admitted. 'It may be a _what_ , more so than a _who_. But it is difficult to say. Poppy's mandrake potion should be able to revive him, when Pomona is able to provide the mature mandrakes.'

'I don't understand why it is necessary to wait so long,' said Minerva tersely. 'Could we not procure mature mandrakes elsewhere?'

Albus shook his head. 'I doubt it, to be honest. They are very difficult to identify in the wild, and they are not usually kept in greenhouses unless they are needed for some reason. It was lucky, really, that Pomona decided to teach mandrakes this year at all. I have been in touch with the other magical schools, and several well-known herbologists on the continent, but nobody seems to be tending a crop this term except Hogwarts. And mandrake restorative draught cannot be preserved, so it is nearly impossible to buy it on the open market.'

They had reached the door at last. Albus unlocked it wandlessly, and Minerva shifted her burden to open it.

They were silent as they entered the ward. Albus could see Harry's form hunched down in the sole occupied bed, apparently asleep. He and Minerva manoeuvred Colin into a bed on the opposite side of the room, laying him down on top of the white sheets.

'Fetch Poppy,' Albus said in a low voice to Minerva. The Transfiguration teacher hurried away toward the office door.

Not two minutes later she returned, the mediwitch behind her, pulling on a crimson dressing gown and drawing her wand from a pocket.

'He has been petrified,' said Minerva in a small voice, as Poppy hovered over Colin's still form.

Albus, however, delicately released the camera from the child's stiffened grip. His eyes, brought into view by the removal of the obstruction, were fixed and widely open – apparently horrified.

Albus looked curiously down at the camera, turning it over in his hands.

'Do you think he managed to take a photograph of the attack?' Minerva asked excitedly, coming over to look at the device as well.

Albus did not answer. Instead, he located the latch to release the film compartment. Flicking it open, he immediately drew back as a hiss of smoke and a spurt of oily liquid leaked from the opened back of the camera.

'It's all melted…' Poppy said, staring in turn at the two professors and the destroyed camera.

'But what does this mean then, Albus?' Minerva asked fearfully.

'I believe it means,' said Albus heavily, 'that what we have feared since the attack on Hallowe'en is true. That the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened once more, and Slytherin's monster set loose upon the castle.'

The two women stared back at him in horror. Albus looked away, toward the other occupied bed. Where Harry lay, sleeping and ignorant of the terrors of the night. He sighed deeply.

From this angle, Albus could not see Harry's eyes widen in fear.

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'This just proves it's got to be Draco!' said Ron confidently, when Harry had joined him and Hermione in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom after his release from hospital. 'He'd obviously run into Colin after the match, when he was all sore about you trouncing him, Harry. He took it out on Colin. I'll bet it was impulse… he was probably on his way up to the hospital wing to do you in, mate.'

'Thanks, Ron,' said Harry sarcastically, shaking his head.

Although Harry had been very hesitant to pursue their mad idea of using Polyjuice Potion to coax the secrets of Slytherin's chamber out of Draco Malfoy yesterday, he was all for it today. Colin Creevey had been an annoying pest in many ways, but nobody deserved to be attacked the way he had. The teachers clearly were no farther along in their efforts to catch the Heir… so Harry thought he, Ron and Hermione might as well do their bit.

He did hope Snape never caught onto them though, or they were dead for sure.

Ron had adamantly protested the idea of brewing the potion in the girls' lavatory, but Harry had backed Hermione. After all, if what she said about the place was true, they were far less likely to be discovered in here than anywhere else in the castle. Hermione had started the complicated process, _Moste Potente Potions_ propped up on the back of the open toilet in front of her. He and Ron were supposed to be 'helping' by preparing the ingredients as she recited them… but Hermione had insisted that Harry rest his arm since he was just released from Madam Pomfrey's clutches, and after Ron's first attempt at dicing frog liver, Hermione had decided perhaps he would do better talking with Harry than helping her brew.

'Well, we'll know for certain when the potion's finished,' Hermione put in, carefully measuring out a portion of elderflower essence. 'There,' she said, stirring the cauldron three times and prodding the fire underneath a bit. 'That'll do for now. The book says it needs to simmer for three days, so I'll put a charm on this cubicle to keep it undisturbed, and we'll check on it later.'

She pushed the three boys out of the crowded space and toward the door. Harry heard Myrtle wailing from somewhere down the row of cubicles, but he did his best to ignore it.

'So the Chamber of Secrets has been opened before, then,' Hermione said quietly, as the three of them climbed the staircase toward the tower.

'Yes, I think so,' said Harry. 'At least, that's what Dobby let slip, and what Dumbledore said later seemed to confirm it.'

'That elf's mental, mate,' said Ron. 'I mean, stopping us at Kings Cross _and_ setting that mad bludger after you yesterday? You know, I reckon he'll do you in himself if he keeps trying to keep you safe.'

'You'll have to be very careful, Harry,' Hermione agreed, looking significantly at him. 'But I do wish he'd told you a bit more about the last time the Chamber was opened… I don't remember ever reading that before.'

'They'll have hushed it up,' said Ron, sagely. 'Especially if they never rumbled where the Chamber was. Wouldn't want parents getting afraid to send their kids to school, not knowing if some monster was going to be on the hunt.'

'Hmm,' said Hermione, looking thoughtful. 'Maybe. But I still think there's got to be more to it.'

Harry shrugged. 'I suppose we should add it to the list of things we'll ask Malfoy once we've taken the potion,' he suggested.

'Say, Harry, did you hear about the new club?' Ron asked, changing the subject.

'What club?'

'They're starting a duelling club – first meeting next Saturday, just after dinner. Fancy going?'

'Sounds great!' said Harry, enthusiastically, thinking back on the duelling lessons he'd had with Dumbledore before the start of term. It would be wonderful to spar with classmates, especially since they were _still_ not learning proper Defence in their lessons with Lockhart.

And besides, it seemed that duelling might not go amiss, with a monster on the loose.

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'A duelling club,' sneered Snape, staring deadpan at Dumbledore from over the rim of his tea. 'You cannot be serious.' '

'Indeed I am,' said Albus cheerfully, stirring another lump of sugar into his own cup. 'Gilderoy asked me for permission at our meeting yesterday, and I hardly felt I could refuse him. He is, after all, our Defence teacher. And the club is a Defence-focused endeavour.'

'You hardly felt you could _refuse him_!?' Severus scoffed, disbelieving. 'I would have thought you'd do nothing _but_ refuse him – after his incompetence nearly cost your Golden Boy a limb.'

'Gilderoy was severely reprimanded for that,' Albus said, his face serious. 'And Minerva ensured that he will not forget his rash actions in a hurry.'

Severus snorted. 'And the brat will recover fully, I hear?'

'Indeed he will,' Albus said, his eyes twinkling.

'More's the pity,' said Severus, waspishly. His team could have done with a one-armed Potter in their next match.

Albus chose to ignore his comment. 'In any case, Severus,' he continued, sipping at the tea, 'I was hoping you would consent to assist with the instruction.'

'Assist _him?_ ' Severus asked, firing up at once. 'Headmaster, I refuse. The man is the greatest definition of imbecile. He is clumsier with a wand than the Longbottom boy with a cauldron. It _continues_ to escape me how you ever chose to employ him at this school. I will not subject myself to the public shame of endorsing an activity he has spearheaded.'

'No?' said Albus curiously, his tone still light and friendly. 'I thought, perhaps, you would be able to censure the fanfare, a little. Perhaps ensure that the students learn something from the experience. As I understand it, most of the student body is on edge with the events of late. I think it likely that many of your own students will enrol in the duelling club. And, of course, I am certain that Harry and his friends will join as well.'

Severus grimaced, but he knew that the battle was lost. He would not be able to leave his students to _Gilderoy's_ tender mercies. It went against everything he held principle to the duties of a Head of House. And if Potter was there… well, whether Snape liked it or not, he would have to take the post. Lockhart was sure to continue his odd attention to the brat, and Potter was sure to suffer for it. Though it might be amusing to watch the fallout, Severus knew that none of them could afford a permanently damaged Harry Potter.

'Fine,' he said. 'You win, old man. But I shall not forget that you forced me into this,' Severus promised.

Albus inclined his head. 'I do appreciate it, Severus.'

They finished their tea, and Severus bade the headmaster a good evening, heading for his chambers to finish up a few things before dinner. On the threshold of the office, he paused.

'Out of interest, Albus, how exactly did Minerva ensure that Lockhart paid for his foolishness?

Albus's eyes twinkled. 'Well, I cannot speak to all the details, of course,' he said, putting a finger to his mouth as if in thought, 'But when I met him last night, it seemed that someone had hexed his hair _black_. I agreed that it did not suit his colouring at all but, unfortunately, I am growing quite old. I'm afraid I could not recall the counter-jinx.'

In spite of himself, Severus snorted.

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Severus was slightly self-gratified when he sent Gilderoy Lockhart flying backward, wandless, into several startled students during their 'demonstration' at the ridiculous duelling club the following Saturday. After all, blasting the insipid man off his feet had been his dearest fantasy since Dumbledore had announced the appointment at the start of the summer holiday.

He really ought to thank the headmaster for providing such a perfect opportunity.

Lockhart scrambled upright with less than his usual grace, looking slightly gormless as he took his wand back from one of the Patil twins.

'Right,' he said, attempting to summon his bravado as he straightened his robes. 'What a wonderful idea Severus – to teach them the disarming charm. An excellent choice for combative spellcasting – though of course, you were quite obvious in what you were about to do… written all over your face, my dear fellow –'

Severus was sure it had not been. Just as he was sure his current instinct to curse Lockhart into the next century was _plainly_ visible in the ice of his eyes and the curl of his upper lip. Apparently, the defence expert was not so thick that he missed _that_ message.

'Why don't we have a volunteer pair, then?' Lockhart said hastily, breaking eye contact with Severus. He glanced around the room. Albus had been correct in his assumption – nearly the entire school had turned out for this farce.

'Harry? Come on up, my dear boy, come on up. Right up your alley this, isn't it? You can show all these people how it's done!'

Lockhart was beaming at the child. Potter, to his credit, looked rather embarrassed as he begrudgingly climbed up onto the high table to stand with Lockhart.

'And how about Long-'

'Draco!' Severus called, summoning the boy to him with a crook of his finger before Lockhart could finish ensuring all their demise with his selection. Draco Malfoy joined him with a bit of a swagger. He and Potter were already glaring at each other.

On second thought, perhaps Snape's instinct was not much better… still, he reasoned, Draco deserved a chance to best Potter after his own personal humiliation last weekend. And at least both children were reasonably talented. They weren't likely to _kill_ each other…

'Feeling frightened, Potter?' Draco jeered at the boy. Potter held his head high, scowling back.

'Don't you wish,' he said mockingly in reply. The two boys bowed stiffly to each other, walking as Severus and Lockhart had done from the centre of the table to opposite ends. They held their wands out in front of them.

'Remember – you are casting only to disarm,' Lockhart said, 'And to block your opponent.'

Severus leaned over to whisper in Draco's ear.

'Do not let him rile you, Draco,' he said softly. 'And do not do anything to embarrass me or your House.' Draco smirked in reply, and Severus stepped back. Across the table, he could see that Potter's eyes were darting between the two of them, looking slightly apprehensive.

'On the count of three, then,' Lockhart said. 'One, two…'

But Draco, predictably, jumped the gun. Flourishing his wand, he cast a hex at Potter, sending him reeling backward.

' _Ricumsempra!_ ' Potter responded in kind, and Draco doubled over, wheezing through his laughter.

'Boys, boys – I said to disarm _only_!' Lockhart was saying desperately, though he made no move to enter the fray or disarm the children himself. Severus stepped forward, thinking to end the foolishness, just as both Potter and Draco cast their next spells.

' _Serpensortia!_ ' Draco cried.

' _Protego_!' Potter shouted simultaneously.

A massive snake erupted from the tip of Draco's wand, shooting toward the other child. Potter's shield was effective; Severus was surprised to see. It expanded in a blue sphere before him, and the snake was bounced back by the force of the charm – a significant feat, to repel a solid object, especially for one so young. Severus was begrudgingly impressed with the boy's skill. Clearly, the headmaster had taught him well.

A number of other children screamed at the sight of the massive snake, which deflected off the shield and came to rest in the centre of the table, shaking its great head slightly in confusion. Draco was smirking, though he too had backed slightly away. Potter seemed frozen as he let his shield fade, looking warily at the asp.

Severus recognised the spell. It was a common 'party trick' for Slytherin students, and he wasn't shocked that Draco had used it. The problem was, he doubted the second year knew how to vanish the creature… and conjured animals were difficult to control.

'Stay still, Potter,' he said in a low voice, moving cautiously past Draco and toward the snake. 'I shall get rid of it.'

Potter remained frozen, but Gilderoy Lockhart did not.

'Nonsense, Severus, I can handle it,' he said, bounding up from behind Potter and pulling his wand. He pointed it at the asp. With a bang, the huge snake was thrown ten feet into the air, smacking hard against the wood of the table as it came to rest once more. The creature reared, hissing furiously and looking around with its fangs exposed. Its yellow eyes landed on a small Hufflepuff second-year close to the centre of the table – Justin Finch-Fletchley. It slithered slowly toward him.

Suddenly, Potter was moving toward the snake too, brushing past Lockhart, his eyes locked on the angry creature. He spoke to it, his arm outstretched. But Severus could not understand what he said. The cadence was low and broken; a series of hisses. Severus stared stupidly at the boy, his wand still pointed toward the snake. He was shocked.

 _Potter was a Parselmouth._

Potter continued his slurring snake-speech, now nearly within the animal's striking distance himself. The snake, for a moment, remained poised as if to bite, its eyes fixed on the Hufflepuff boy. But then, slowly, it turned its great head to face Potter. Severus was shaken from his attitude by immediate fear – Potter was far too close to the creature. He started forward.

But the snake had closed its mouth, putting its fangs away. It lowered itself back to the ground where it coiled – docile and clearly not readying for attack. Potter stared down at it, a commanding gleam in his eye that Severus had never noticed before… but almost recognised.

The terrified boy, Justin, spat something at Potter and turned to flee the hall. Potter seemed to shake himself back to his reality, staring after Finch-Fletchley in confusion and hurt. Severus recovered his senses as well, vanishing the snake in a wisp of dark grey smoke. He gave Potter a calculating look and made toward him, but his faithful sidekicks interceded, grabbing the boy by the arms and dragging him toward the doors.

'Class dismissed!' said Lockhart, in his cheery voice. Completely oblivious – as usual. The stunned students began moving en masse to exit, discussing the recent events in low, excited murmurs.

'Well, that went rather well!' said Lockhart, clapping his hands and turning to face Severus as the last of the students left. 'Thank you so much for your assistance Severus – it always pays to have a good helper on hand with a group this size!'

'Rather _well_?' Severus spat, incredulous. 'That, Lockhart, was an unmitigated disaster. I shall be speaking to the headmaster about the events of tonight. And I do _not_ think I will be up for a second attempt. Excuse me.'

He brushed past the Defence teacher, who was gaping after him in stunned silence. Severus's churning thoughts were threatening to cause a migraine.

 _How had he not known that Potter was a parselmouth? How had Albus failed to mention it?_

Lily had not possessed this gift. Nor, as far as he knew, had James. It was not unheard of for magical skills – even genetic ones – to present randomly in wizards, or for a gift to skip generations before surfacing again. Like magical blood itself, it was impossible to fully predict when one person would display a talent and another would not.

But among the many magical gifts, parseltongue was one of the most rare, most coveted, and most feared. Severus himself had only known one other with the skill in all his lifetime.

Which made Potter's ability to converse with snakes all the more ominous.

The hairs on Severus's arms were raised, as he quickly made for the headmaster's office.


	19. Naming An Heir

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 19: Naming an Heir**

'The child is a parselmouth,' Severus spat at Albus, almost as soon as the old wizard had called for him to enter. Albus sat back, considering the professor. There was no need to ask to whom he was referring. But the news, in itself, was startling.

'How did you come by this information, Severus?' Albus asked him seriously.

Severus glared back. 'He just performed a demonstration at that ridiculous _duelling club_. Half the students were in the Great Hall at the time – the whole school will know by now.'

'And how did he come to speak parseltongue in the Great Hall?' pressed Albus shrewdly, his blue eyes piercing into Severus's.

Severus hesitated. 'Draco and Potter were doing a demonstration. Draco used a snake-conjuring spell in the duel.'

'Surely that was not one of the approved spells,' Albus said, his eyes flashing slightly.

Severus scoffed, waving an impatient hand. 'That's hardly the point, is it Albus? The brat _spoke_ to the snake – shouted at it – in front of the entire hall. The situation is likely to spiral out of control, given the current state of the school. _How_ could you fail to tell me that Potter could speak in Slytherin's tongue?'

Albus rose from his seat, turning to face Fawkes's perch as he gathered his thoughts. He stroked the phoenix's great plumed head. Fawkes was beginning to lose his feathers. His burning day must be approaching.

'I was not aware that Harry possessed the skill,' Albus admitted, still keeping his gaze on the phoenix. 'Though I suppose it is not a surprising development.'

'Not _surprising?_ ' Severus asked, incredulous. 'Parseltongue is among the rarest of all the magical skills. _I_ am of Slytherin's house, and I myself can boast to only having met one other parselmouth before in my life… and we both know that sorcerer's reputation comports precisely with the rumours that have long surrounded the art of snake speech. I do not recall the Potters having parseltongue in their line, nor could Lily speak the language. It is both surprising _and_ ominous, in my view. And I find it difficult to believe that you, who have watched and protected the boy so closely, could not have known of this talent.'

Albus sighed, feeling every bit his age for the moment. He wanted to think on this new information, and Severus's ranting and the immediacy of the issue was not helping his thoughts. He considered it unlikely that Harry had inherited the skill genetically… though it was not entirely implausible. No, Albus thought it was much more likely that Harry could speak to snakes because _Voldemort_ could speak to snakes. Voldemort – who had marked the infant as his equal. Voldemort, who Albus suspected more and more had transferred some of his own abilities to Harry on that Hallowe'en night.

'Severus,' he said, turning to face the Potions master once more. 'You know that magic is difficult to predict. There are many ways by which Harry could have come to possess a talent for parseltongue, and certainly nothing we can do to quash it. I'll admit to some surprise myself that we are only just learning of this ability, but it is possible Harry himself did not realise that he had the gift.'

'It seems like quite convenient timing,' Severus pointed out, 'with Slytherin's chamber once more reopened.'

'It does,' Albus admitted. 'Although you and I both know that Harry had nothing to do with that.'

Severus seemed recalcitrant, but he nodded his agreement.

'I do think that will be the most immediate problem, however,' Albus said, pacing the space behind his desk. 'As long as Salazar Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets remain the focus of school gossip, Harry will face suspicion and rumour from the other students. We must ensure that no harm comes to him, in addition to our efforts to uncover the culprit.'

Snape gave another curt nod and swept for the door. 'I suppose you will handle speaking to the brat about this latest incident?' he shot back at Albus, his hand on the door handle.

'Of course,' Albus agreed, inclining his head. Severus left the room.

Albus sighed wearily again, retaking his seat. Fawkes trilled lightly in sympathy, sweeping over to settle on the headmaster's shoulder.

'So many moving pieces, and yet I cannot see the game,' he said to the bird. Fawkes stared dolefully back.

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Harry had an uneasy fortnight, as the end of term drew closer. Ron and Hermione had explained parseltongue to him, both looking as though he'd shown the mark of the devil himself. Harry, in turn, felt tainted and dirty. Coupled with Occlumency, this now made _two_ of Slytherin's magics present in himself. With his newfound knowledge about the founder, he couldn't help feeling he was somehow sinking into dark arts… especially remembering how the Sorting Hat had thought to put him in Slytherin when he first arrived at the school.

He stopped practising his Occlumency at night, and the nightmares began to return. Harry set silencing charms round his bed to keep from waking Ron and the others, but he was growing increasingly exhausted and bad-tempered from the sleepless nights. Several times, he found he was almost asleep in lessons. Hermione had had to give him all her notes from this week's history of magic lessons – which were always a struggle to remain alert in. He'd botched his potion in Snape's lesson on Wednesday afternoon, splashing half the class with a sickly green brew that had left angry red wheels on their skin, and earning himself a detention. Professor McGonagall was disappointed with his subpar work in Transfiguration on Thursday – especially after his stellar performance in her lessons all term – and she had seemed rather worried about him as she dismissed the Gryffindors for the day.

Adding to Harry's trouble, most of the rest of the school was dwelling on his ability to speak to snakes as well. Harry passed groups of students in the corridors who stopped their chatter immediately as he walked by, eying him warily. First years darted around corners and out of range as he approached, and many of the Slytherins did not bother to hide their gossiping as he came within earshot. Harry knew they thought he must be the Heir of Slytherin, and were waiting for him to start attacking them all. Even Ron and Hermione admitted, dully, that there really was no proving he wasn't – not when the founder had been dead for a thousand years. Of course, neither Ron nor Hermione thought it at all likely that Harry was attacking the school… but they could do little to quash the rumours either. Harry thought even the teachers appeared the be acting oddly around him. Snape seemed to be around every corner when he walked the school in the evenings, and McGonagall had taken to watching all of the Gryffindor quidditch practices from the stands. He hadn't seen Dumbledore since the incident in the Great Hall, and hadn't yet talked to him after the revelation about Dobby, much to Hermione's displeasure. Ron had confided to him that he'd overhead Percy and George talking about Dumbledore visiting the Ministry – apparently, Arthur Weasley had learned that the Minister for Magic himself was now aware of the attacks, and Dumbledore had had to go into London a few times to meet with him about it.

Harry had been hunting for Justin to try and talk to him after what had happened with the snake, but the Hufflepuff seemed to be adamant against remaining in the same room with Harry any longer than strictly necessary. He hadn't seen Justin in the library or grounds at all and, at the first Herbology lesson after the duelling club meeting, the other Hufflepuffs had pulled Justin to work with them at a different station, keeping themselves between Harry and the other boy. They'd whisked him away just as the bell rang, and Harry could not follow fast enough.

'Why don't you go and find him, Harry, if you're so anxious about it?' Hermione asked him on the last Saturday of term, as Harry worked with her and Ron in the library on Snape's nasty final essay.

Harry had been next to useless all morning, stewing over his troubles while darting glances across to the table of Hufflepuff second-years gossiping in the corner. He could not see Justin among them.

'I think you're well shot of him, mate,' Ron said fervently, leaning over a bit to try and read Hermione's writing. 'He seems a right prat to me.'

Harry frowned. He didn't know Justin that well, but the thought of anyone thinking he'd been trying to do them harm made his insides squirm.

'Yeah, well, I think I'll go see if he's around,' he said decisively, packing up his Potions things. He bid the others goodbye and headed out of the library. He saw Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbott exchange frightened looks behind his back from the Hufflepuff table as he left.

The trouble was, Harry didn't know where to start looking. The day was snowy and frigid, so not many students would be out in the grounds. Justin wasn't on the house quidditch team, so he doubted he'd have any reason to be outside anyway. And obviously, he hadn't been in the library. Harry thought perhaps he might be in the Hufflepuff common room. He started down the stairs on that theory. Harry didn't know precisely where the Hufflepuff common room was, but he knew it was somewhere down by the kitchens.

Between the third and second floors, however, Harry suddenly tripped. He had been so focused on what he was going to say to Justin that he hadn't been paying much attention to the staircase. He was suddenly pitched forward, his arms flailing as the toe of his trainer caught against something hard lying in the landing. Miraculously, Professor Snape happened to be heading up the staircase at just that moment. Harry supposed he shouldn't have been surprised – Snape seemed to be everywhere he was these days. The Potions master turned a corner just as Harry flew forward, and managed to catch him as he fell toward the marble steps. Strong arms set Harry upright again, steadying him on his feet.

'Professor!' Harry gasped in surprise, and some gratitude.

But, shockingly, Snape was not glaring down at him. Instead, his dark eyes were trained over Harry's shoulder, at whatever had tripped him. Harry turned his head with difficulty; Snape's hands were still gripping his forearms tightly.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was lying immobile three steps up on the landing, his body stiffened and his face frozen in a mask of shock. More ominous still, a ghost Harry vaguely recognised as the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw Tower was floating like a wilting balloon above Justin's feet. Her usual pearly white figure now matched her name – the spectre was a dark, smoky grey, spinning in a slow circle without animation where she hovered.

'Potter –' Snape began, his tone low and urgent. His grip tightened still further on Harry's arms as he pulled him down toward the next landing, away from the grisly sight. But whatever Snape was going to say was soon cut off.

'Caught red-handed!' came a dramatic voice from overhead. Harry glanced up. Ernie MacMillan, Hannah Abbott and most of the other Hufflepuffs that Harry had seen in the library were staring down at Harry from above Justin, accusatory expressions on all their faces. Ernie, who Harry suspected had been the speaker, was pointing a shaking finger at him, his face flustered and furious.

'What is going on here?' said Professor McGonagall, striding up the steps toward the scene. Her stern face changed immediately to shock and concern as she took in the scene: Justin and the strangely smoky ghost on their step, the Hufflepuffs in an angry mob above, and Snape and Harry – still frozen in their place below. She took charge at once.

'Ms. Abbott, take your housemates and get to your common room, immediately. Not you – MacMillan,' she said, halting the red-faced boy as the rest of the Hufflepuffs filed past the teachers and Harry, keeping as far as possible from them both on the staircase.

'You,' she said to Ernie, 'Take this.' She conjured a fan from mid-air with a wave of her wand. 'Use it to float the Grey Lady down to hospital wing. And do not let me catch you throwing unfounded accusations around again, or I shall assign you a detention.' Ernie looked sullen, but took the fan obediently and began to waft the ghost down the staircase, giving Harry a very dirty glare as he passed.

Snape did not release him.

'Minerva,' he called up to her, for she had gone to examine Justin's still form.

'Take Harry up to Albus immediately, Severus,' she said, barely sparing a glance for him. 'I will summon Pomona to help me get Finch-Fletchley to Poppy.'

Snape began to steer Harry up the stairs again, releasing his arms so the boy could walk in front. As they reached McGonagall and Justin, the Transfiguration professor suddenly grasped his hand.

'It's alright, Harry,' she said softly, looking very seriously into his eyes. 'But I want you to stay with the headmaster until I come for you, ok?'

Harry nodded, still too shocked to speak. Snape prodded him in the back to keep him moving, and he walked silently ahead of the man toward the familiar gargoyle on the seventh floor.

Harry stared in silence at the ugly gargoyle when they had arrived. Though he knew the password, he couldn't seem to get his tongue to form words.

'Sherbet Lemon,' Snape said, when it became obvious that Harry was not going to speak. The gatekeeper sprang aside, and both Snape and Harry climbed onto the revolving staircase. Snape did not goad Harry, or talk to him at all, as they were propelled upward to the headmaster's quarters.

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'Stay here,' Severus said to the boy, when they had alighted at the top and entered the office. The study was silent and still – Albus did not seem to be in. Severus wondered if perhaps he had gone to the Ministry again, or if the headmaster was merely taking an afternoon rest.

He left Potter in the study while he ran up to check, but Albus was not in his bedchamber. When he returned, the boy was still standing in the spot he'd left him, apparently in shock. Severus looked him up and down in mild concern.

'Were you injured in the fall, Potter?' he asked the child.

Potter shook his head.

'Verbal answers when you speak to me!' he snapped.

'No, sir,' Potter said, his tone lacking its usual impudence. Severus frowned.

'I cannot find the headmaster,' he said. 'I am going to check in the Great Hall and with the other Heads of House. He may have gone out on an errand.' He looked at Potter again. The boy was staring absently at Severus, but his gaze was unfocused. He doubted the brat had heard a word of his speech. Irritated, he snapped two fingers in front of Potter's nose. The student started.

'Pay attention!' he barked. 'I will be back shortly with the headmaster. You will stay here until I return. You will _not_ leave this room for any reason. Have I made myself clear?'

Potter nodded. 'Yes, sir,' he added when Severus's face turned thunderous again.

Severus waved his wand, and a glass of pumpkin juice and a plate of sandwiches appeared on the low table in the sitting area.

'Eat something. It is nearly lunch, and you are looking half-starved these days,' he said gruffly to the motionless child. He swept from the room without another word.

Severus could have used a patronus to summon Albus, of course, but he was hesitant, even though this was an emergency if ever he'd seen one. If the headmaster _was_ at the Ministry at the moment, he didn't want the doe to appear in front of a room of officials, bringing dire news about the state of the school. He had already heard from several of his own students that Lucius Malfoy was attempting to use the current panic to stage a coup against Dumbledore among the school governors… and Lucius had many friends in the Ministry. The Minister himself, while very subservient to Dumbledore, was fond of Lucius and notoriously loose-lipped. They could not avoid word of this latest attack spreading beyond the castle walls eventually, but Severus saw no need to speed the process and catch the headmaster wrong-footed.

So Severus set out to find the headmaster the difficult way. His first thought was the Great Hall, since the hour was drawing on noon. Perhaps the headmaster had headed down early. He noticed, as he swept past the landing where Justin Finch-Fletchley had laid motionless, that Minerva seemed to have succeeded in moving the student to hospital. The stairs were clear once more.

It had been exceedingly lucky that Severus had caught up to Potter right at that moment, or things might have been much worse. There was always the possibility that the idiot could have snapped his neck on a fall down the staircase, or the much more unnerving chance that the attacker – whoever that was – had been only feet away in one of the corridors. Severus knew the ambush had to have been recent… on a week-end afternoon, it was very unlikely that the petrified body of a boy and the charred remains of a ghost could have lain undiscovered for long.

Albus, who had always put Potter's safety above all else, had taken great pains to tighten their watch on him – almost as much effort as he himself had been putting into the investigation of the school and the Chamber. The headmaster was certain that Harry would be a prime target for whoever had opened the Chamber of Secrets – for though he was not a Muggle-born child, he was the Boy Who Lived. And the Boy Who Lived had vanquished the true Heir of Slytherin.

Severus doubted that Potter even realised how closely he was now watched. There was someone there, always, when Potter was on his own, whether one of the teachers or a house-elf. Today, Madam Pince had signalled immediately when Potter abruptly left his friends and the library on his own, and Severus had been headed to keep an eye out when he quite literally caught the boy.

Dumbledore was not in the Great Hall. The only occupants, a half hour before the usual start of lunch, were a couple of Ravenclaw fourth years having a debate on the proper time for observation of Venus at their own table.

Severus's next inclination was to search the staffroom. Perhaps Filius, Pomona or Aurora would know what had become of their headmaster. He should have thought it through more carefully, however. With the recent attack, the Heads of House and most of the other teachers were seeing to the chaos that had broken out among the students. When he pushed open the door, he realised his mistake. The only teacher in the room was –

'Severus, how charming!' said an irritating voice. Severus scowled. Gilderoy Lockhart bounded forward, a beaming smile on his face.

'Lockhart,' he acknowledged, barely inclining his head. 'I do not suppose you have seen Professor Dumbledore?'

'No, no, sorry to disappoint,' Lockhart said, still showing all his perfect teeth. 'I'm afraid I haven't seen anyone at all in here for nearly half an hour. I was just finishing up some lesson planning before lunch.' He gestured to the table behind him, where Snape could see a spread of Lockhart's own books, little coloured ribbons sticking out at odd pages, and a sheaf of lilac-tinted parchment on which the professor had apparently been copying out sections. He sneered.

'How pioneering,' he said sarcastically. 'Then I do not suppose you have realised, Lockhart, that there has been another attack on a student?'

Lockhart's grin faltered slightly. 'Er – no, I hadn't heard,' he said awkwardly.

'Indeed,' said Severus, spinning to leave. 'I suggest you head down to the Great Hall to assist the others in managing the students. I need to continue my own work.'

He left the Defence teacher packing up his things hurriedly, and decided to check out in the grounds. The weather was horrendous, but Albus was known to sometimes pay a week-end call to Hagrid.

Severus was nearly to the front door, however, when he was waylaid by the gamekeeper himself, pulling off his massive overcoat and shaking bits of ice from his long hair as he stepped in out of the gale.

'Professor Snape, sir,' he said in greeting. 'Is somethin' the matter?'

'There has been another attack, Hagrid,' he said, without preamble. The half-giant looked stunned. Severus noticed he was holding a dead, bloodied cock in one hand. Odd… but this was not the moment for questions. 'I must find the headmaster,' he said quickly.

'Er – I think he was goin' down ter the village, sir,' Hagrid said, still looking upset. 'I was actually gonna wait fer 'im meself – need ter talk ter 'im about them foxes.'

Severus looked to the dead fowl again. 'I'm afraid that may have to wait, Hagrid,' he said. 'Do you know where in the village Albus was heading?'

'Aberforth's place, I think,' said Hagrid. Severus nodded, hurrying away again before Hagrid could ask more questions. Because his own quarters were closer, he swept down to the dungeons to floo for the headmaster.

'Aberforth,' he said softly, when his head had appeared in the fireplace of the Hog's Head. Quite luckily, the snow and wind (and daylight) had kept the little pub relatively deserted. There were only two or three patrons in the place when Severus arrived, and the surly old barman was dropping off a drink to a wizened witch in a corner booth. Severus did not see Albus in attendance.

Aberforth set the drink down on the table roughly, splashing a bit of what looked like Firewhisky over the rim. He turned to face the fireplace with a grumpy expression.

'Snape,' he acknowledged with a mistrustful narrowing of his eyes. Severus, who had never got on with the barkeep, felt his cheeks redden slightly as he recognised the suspicion. It was not unfounded, from Aberforth's perspective. He schooled his expression immediately, trying to seem unconcerned.

'Where is Albus?' he asked.

Aberforth turned away from him, busying himself with the polishing of a few glasses set out on the grubby bar.

'What d'you want with him, Snape?' he grunted. 'Not that I've any idea where he's got to, mind.'

Severus narrowed his own eyes. 'I cannot discuss it in the open, Aberforth,' he said through gritted teeth. 'But it is imperative that I speak with him immediately.'

Aberforth dropped the cloth onto the countertop, leaning against the bar and setting one hand on his hip as he glared down at the potion masters' face in the flames.

'Oh yeah, you're always wanting to speak with him, aren't you, Snape?' he mocked. 'And never mind what business he might have that's not to do with you. Never been important to you, has it?'

Severus felt his anger rise immediately. 'This has _nothing_ to do with that,' he said, his voice as low as he could keep it.

Aberforth snorted, picking up the cloth again.

'Where. Is. He.'

'Up in the back,' Aberforth said, without glancing up again. 'Having a _private_ conversation.'

'With _whom_?' Severus spat, losing his patience.

'Now, wouldn't you like to know?' Aberforth put in with a sneer. 'Care to pop through? You could try and _sneak_ up to find out.'

Severus snarled, opening his mouth to cut back, when suddenly Albus appeared through the little door in the back of the pub. His face was careworn and deeply sad. No other figure followed him from the stairwell.

'Severus?' he asked in some surprise, catching sight of the potion master's murderous face in the fire. He hurried over, glancing between the barkeep and the professor. He gave Aberforth an admonitory look. 'Thank you for the message, Aberforth,' he said wearily. Severus was rather amused by the uncharacteristic sarcasm.

The barkeep shrugged, unperturbed. 'I'd have come for you in a minute, Albus,' he said. 'But, you know, nasty things tend to happen when I leave this one,' he jerked his head at Severus, 'unattended in my pub.'

'Aberforth,' Albus said sharply. 'That is quite enough.' He turned back to the fireplace, where Severus was still struggling to contain his temper.

'What is it, my boy?' he asked. Severus wondered if he had added the epithet to calm Severus' boiling blood, or to _cause_ the same effect in the barkeep. At the moment, however, it did not matter.

'Headmaster,' he said, 'Justin Finch-Fletchley has been taken to hospital wing. The Grey Lady was also… affected.' He saw the understanding flash in the headmaster's eyes.

'Harry?' the old man breathed immediately, looking fearful.

'Stumbled over the scene moments after it happened, as seems to be his custom. Potter is not injured, but is currently waiting for you in your study.'

Albus nodded gravely. 'Thank you,' he said, straightening from his crouch. 'I will head back to the castle at once. Aberforth, if I might trouble you for a pinch of floo powder? I would rather avoid the time spent in braving the gale outdoors.'

Severus waited until Dumbledore had taken a bit of powder from the box Aberforth offered, then pulled his head back out of the flames, clearing the way for the headmaster's travels.

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Harry stood rooted to the spot for several minutes after the door had closed behind Snape. He was running over the events of the afternoon. How could it be coincidence that the attacked student had been Justin – the very person he'd been so set on finding? McGonagall and Snape did not seem to suspect him, but he knew that, for most of the school, today would only confirm their fear that Harry was a dangerous nutter.

An odd sort of noise from behind him drew him from his reverie. He turned to see Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix, staring sadly at him out of shrouded eyes. Harry suspected that the bird had been trying to comfort him, but his beautiful trill was garbled and faint. He strode toward the bird, stroking despondently at Fawkes' head. The phoenix was nearly bald.

'You're not having a very good day either, are you?' he said quietly to the bird.

He was sad to see Fawkes looking so desperately ill, even though he knew that this cycle was natural for phoenixes. It didn't make it any easier to watch. Harry could feel the pull of Fawkes' unique magic thrumming in the air around him. Unlike his physical body, which seemed to be slowly dying, Fawkes' magical aura was increasing as his burning time drew closer. Harry supposed it was a facet of the phoenix's power – perhaps what allowed him the ability to be reborn.

Harry suddenly missed Hedwig dearly – he had not been up the owlery to see her for ages. Perhaps he would go later this week-end… the owl might give him some comfort.

As Harry allowed his thoughts to drift, he ran his eyes dully over the shelves of instruments behind Fawkes' perch. He wished he knew what each of them did. Although he'd learned much from the headmaster this past summer, he dearly missed spending more time with Dumbledore. He had barely seen him in the past month, with one thing and another. Harry found that he missed the professor, though he was hardly away from him in the physical sense.

His wandering eyes suddenly alighted on a worn old hat, lying in the centre of a bookshelf. Harry recognised it immediately as the school Sorting Hat – the one he had tried on last year when he'd arrived at Hogwarts. His thoughts had lingered so often these past few weeks on what the Sorting Hat had told him… that he would have done well in Slytherin. He feared it.

It couldn't hurt to try it on again… just once.

Glancing nervously around the empty room, Harry approached the shelf and removed the Hat from his perch. He could feel Fawkes' gaze on him as he tugged it firmly over his ears, waiting.

'Ah, Harry Potter,' said the little voice in his head.

'Er, hello,' said Harry awkwardly. Perhaps this was a stupid idea after all.

'It is not unusual to wonder, Harry Potter,' the Hat said, reading his thoughts before he could voice them. 'Yours is hardly the first head I've had the pleasure of sifting through on multiple occasions… and I doubt it shall be the last.'

'Right,' Harry said, still awkward. 'I did wonder –'

'Whether you are in the correct House?' finished the Hat, knowledgeably. 'Yes, I can read the turmoil in your thoughts. And it is not unfounded.'

Harry felt his blood chill.

'Sorting is hardly a precise art, Harry Potter,' the Hat said imperiously. 'But it is _my_ burden. I do what I am meant to do, and I delve through the mind to unearth the latent talents; the secret desires; the undiscovered destinies… I know many things, Mr Potter, and I _hear_ many things. In heads, and from mouths… people are not always so aware that there may be those who are listening other than their human companions.'

Harry swallowed nervously, thinking of all the things he himself had said in the headmaster's study, where this hat lived.

'I do not repeat my secrets, Harry Potter,' the Hat reassured him, once more seizing onto the panic in his mind. 'But I use my knowledge. And I stand by what I said to you last autumn… you _would_ have done well in Slytherin House, though –'

But Harry plucked the Hat from his head, his heart pounding. He did not want to hear any more.

'You're wrong,' he said vehemently, half to himself. The Hat did not reply. Harry put it hastily back on its shelf, still regretting that he'd ever dared to try it on again. From his perch, Fawkes gave another attempt to trill, beating his wings fruitlessly. Harry flung himself toward the bird, determinedly ripping his eyes away from the patched hat.

Fawkes was giving him a reproachful look.

'I know,' Harry said in agreement, stroking the bird's head once again. 'You're right. I should have let it lie.' The bird said nothing, of course, but continued to gaze through his aged eyes at Harry.

'What if it's right, though?' Harry asked, somewhat desperately. 'What if I _was_ meant to be in Slytherin? What if I'm fighting my destinyor my desire, or whatever it was the Hat tries to find in you… and now I'm losing?'

The bird jerked his head suddenly away from Harry's reach. Harry, startled, jumped back a bit, afraid he'd angered the phoenix too. Fawkes' magic was suddenly so strong that Harry could feel literal heat emanating from him.

And then he realised: the sensation _was_ heat.

In a sudden burst of gold and red flames, Fawkes caught fire before him. Harry pulled back a bit farther, nervous he might be burned by the column of flame. The dazzling blaze was still dancing before him, however, when a sudden whoosh from the actual fireplace diverted his attention. He wheeled about.

Dumbledore was climbing over the hearth, his robes amazingly ash-free as he straightened and caught sight of Harry, backed by a brilliant fire.

'Fawkes –' Harry said immediately, looking back in sadness at the flaming perch. The fire had begun to dwindle now, dying out as quickly as it had ignited. Dumbledore smiled as he approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

'You knew his Burning Day was coming, Harry,' the headmaster reminded him, giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

'I know,' Harry said. 'But I still… wasn't quite ready. He just burst into flame so suddenly… it startled me.' He stared forlornly at the little mound of ash that now layered the bottom of the perch, missing the phoenix desperately.

'It can be very upsetting to witness your first Burning,' said Dumbledore gently. 'But you must remember that it is never the end. The violence of the destruction might be terrifying, at first, and it seems for a moment that all that will remain is ashes. But then…'

He reached forward and began to run his fingers through the top of the charred remains, very lightly. After a moment, Harry realised what Dumbledore was searching for. A speck of scarlet appeared among the grey, and, slowly, the headmaster continued brushing the debris away to revel the head of a tiny baby bird. Fawkes, Harry recognised immediately. The baby phoenix gave a shrill cry of recognition as well, looking between Harry and Dumbledore with very wise eyes in its young face.

'You see?' Dumbledore said quietly, conjuring a little bowl of water for the tiny Fawkes. 'The burning is a natural part of the cycle of life. And from the destruction – new life is created. Fresh, innocent, and unblemished. The cycle remains unbroken.'

Harry nodded, relieved, although of course he'd known the phoenix had not really gone from the world forever. Dumbledore allowed him a moment of silence, as they both watched the new-born bird take a few sips of the water and lay his tiny body down upon the bed of ashes, ready for a kip.

'Why don't you come and sit with me, Harry?' the headmaster asked, once Fawkes' little show had ended and the phoenix slumbered.

Harry nodded, making his way toward the sofa. He felt nervous as he took his seat.

'I didn't do it, professor,' he said quickly, when Dumbledore was seated too. 'Attack Justin, I mean, or any of them.'

Dumbledore inclined his head. 'I know that you did not, Harry,' he assured him. 'But I still wished to speak with you.' He nodded toward the table, where the luncheon Snape had summoned for Harry still lay untouched. 'And I see that Severus has sent up lunch for you,' he said, giving Harry a once-over. 'I do have to insist you try and eat some of it. You have been looking a little careworn of late, and Minerva tells me you have not been eating much at mealtimes.'

Harry shrugged, but took a sandwich obediently. 'I haven't been that hungry, sir,' he admitted, thinking about the incessant staring he received from the other students every time he tried to sit down in the Great Hall. He took a bite of the sandwich anyway, and a swig of the juice Snape had left. He felt a faint tingling in his limbs at once, as though the sustenance had given him a bit of instant energy. Perhaps he _had_ been missing too many meals recently. Suddenly ravenous, he dug into the sandwich with a touch more enthusiasm.

'What could have done that though, sir?' Harry asked, as he finished up his first half of sandwich. 'Petrified Justin, and done… whatever it was… to the Grey Lady?'

'I am not sure, Harry,' the headmaster admitted, looking very seriously at Harry over his spectacles. 'But we are endeavouring to find out, I assure you. For now, both Justin and Helena have been relocated. They are in hospital wing.'

'Helena?' Harry asked, suddenly feeling even more terrified. 'Another student was attacked?'

'No, no, I apologise,' said Dumbledore gently. 'I should have realised you may not have known. The Grey Lady's true name is Helena Ravenclaw, although few today call her as such.'

'Helena _Ravenclaw_?' said Harry in surprise. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

'Indeed,' he said with a small smile. 'When she lived, Helena was Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter. Rowena, of course, was one of the four founders of Hogwarts. Helena and her mother were estranged, I believe, at the time of both their passing, although I am not aware of the details of their relationship. Helena has always been incredibly tight-lipped on the subject, and I felt it would be rude to pry. I suspect, however, that her unsolved issues with Rowena are why Helena herself was not able to move on from this world. Those who remain as ghosts, sadly, are usually those who died unhappy deaths or with unfinished business to attend, for which they chose to chain their souls to the earth forevermore. It is both a blessed opportunity and a cursed choice, for most wizards – the decision not to move on. Very few choose that option. As with phoenixes, wizards have the option for rebirth… but we rise from our ashes in a much different realm than this. It is a beautiful and wondrous magic and, like many of the most powerful branches of true magic, it is often feared.'

Harry felt his mind reeling again, as it so often did when Dumbledore made his enigmatic speeches. Dumbledore apparently sensed Harry's confusion.

'Perhaps you are too young, as yet, for such discussions,' he acknowledged. 'In any case – the events of today, while not your fault, are still of some concern to me. As all of these attacks have been, and the attempts on your safety of late.'

But Harry suddenly remembered.

'Professor,' he said, before Dumbledore could continue. 'I meant to tell you earlier, sir, but I haven't seen you since it happened… Dobby came to see me again, sir. He came in the night, when I was in hospital wing after the quidditch match.'

Dumbledore looked intrigued. 'Did he indeed?' he said. 'And for what reason did the elf come to see you?'

'More of the same, mostly,' he said with a shrug. 'Wanted to warn me about the dangers at Hogwarts this year, and try and convince me to go back to the Dursleys. But he also has been trying to save me, apparently, by blocking the barrier at Kings Cross and setting that bludger after me in the quidditch match.'

'Ah,' said Dumbledore, nodding. 'That would explain why it took the wizards on the other side at Kings Cross so long to break the hold of the spell. Elf magic works very differently from our own, and they could not have thought to look for its traces. The bludger has me worried though, Harry. If it were not for your own prodigious skills on a broomstick, you could have been very seriously injured, or even killed.'

'I know,' said Harry. 'I told Dobby as much. He basically said he was _trying_ to get me badly hurt – so that you would decide I had to be sent home to recover.'

Dumbledore frowned. 'It seems to me that the house-elf has good intentions. But even those with good intentions might cause disaster, if they go about their goals in the wrong way. I will try and add to our wards with the help of our own house-elves. Perhaps that will stop a future occurrence of what happened on the quidditch pitch.' He looked thoughtful for a moment. 'You did not, I notice, mention the incident in the summer? Did Dobby not confess to making you ill?'

Harry shook his head. 'I asked him, sir. But he swore that wasn't him. He seemed genuinely surprised to find out I was at Hogwarts, and not at Privet Drive all summer. I don't think he was lying when he said it.'

Dumbledore put the tips of his fingers together, staring past Harry into the fire. For several minutes, they sat in silence. 'Interesting,' the headmaster said at last. 'Well, Harry, I still want you to exercise caution and good sense, especially with the growing danger in the school. Do not go anywhere on your own – not even in the daytime. And come to me or to one of your professors immediately if you are in distress, or you see anything that concerns you.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir, of course.'

At that moment, they were interrupted by a knock on the door. Professor McGonagall hurried into the room at the headmaster's call, looking worried and a little dishevelled.

'The children have eaten, Albus. We have all in their own common rooms for the rest of the afternoon. I've sent the staff to the staff room for now – but I think we will have to meet with them all and set out some new parameters for safety in the castle.' She looked over to Harry, who was listening with rapt attention. 'Are you alright, Harry?' she asked, coming to him and bending down to cup his face with her hand.

'Yes, ma'am,' Harry said, quickly. 'I'm fine.'

'Then I think,' said Professor Dumbledore, getting to his feet and banishing the remainder of Harry's discarded lunch, 'that you ought to join your housemates. Unless,' he paused, giving Harry another piercing blue-eyed stare, 'There is anything else you wish to tell me?'

Harry hesitated for a moment. He thought about the many worries he'd had lately: the drama at the duelling club… the Polyjuice Potion, and Snape's suspicion… his fear that he was somehow connected to Salazar Slytherin…

'No, professor,' he said after a moment, giving Dumbledore a small smile. 'Thank you for seeing me.'

'You know you are always welcome here, Harry,' said Dumbledore, resting his hand for a moment on Harry's shoulder, after the boy got to his feet.

McGonagall moved to lead him from the office. 'I will take you back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry,' she said. 'I want you to stay there with the rest of your classmates until supper. And please, for goodness sake, do not go wandering off on your own if you can help it.'

'Yes ma'am,' said Harry, exactly as he'd reassured Dumbledore.

'And no more avoiding your Occlumency, Harry,' the headmaster said, as Professor McGonagall began to pull him toward the door. Harry turned back, slightly chagrined.

'How did you –'

Dumbledore gave him a quelling look. 'I have been a teacher long enough, Harry,' he said with a hint of McGonagall-sternness, 'to be able to tell when my student is exhausted.'

McGonagall herself gave a 'Humph' of agreement, and Harry looked between the two, a bit red-faced.

'I didn't want to use… _his_ magic, sir,' he admitted to Dumbledore's desk.

'Harry,' the headmaster said gently, pulling his gaze again to Dumbledore's face. 'I have spoken to you before on this point. It is not the magic itself that is usually evil – but the _intent_ of the caster behind it. Slytherin did not _own_ Occlumency, any more than you _own_ your admirable shield charm.'

Harry smiled a little at that, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

'Thank you, sir,' he said. Dumbledore gave him a small smile of his own, and a nod, and he was swept out of the office.

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Albus sat back in his chair, Minerva and Severus on opposite ends of the sofa before him. They were enjoying a nightcap of Firewhisky – at the end of a very trying Saturday.

Albus had met with the entire staff that afternoon, as Minerva had suggested. He had instituted several new protocols to try and ensure student safety. All students were to be in their common rooms by nine p.m., regardless of normal curfews (which typically varied by year). At nine, each Head of House would be in their respective dormitories, taking roll to ensure no student was left out in the corridors. Students were never to be in the corridors alone – but always with at least one other. Albus had Filius and Minerva inspecting the protective spells inside the castle, and he himself was ensuring the ward improvements he'd promised Harry – with the help of Mina and Tilly, who had been eager to assist with the project. Most importantly, he urged each Head of House to be diligent about responding to their students' concerns – both to ease the mounting tension and to address any possible leads on the perpetrator.

After a long evening of activity, the students were finally put to bed and accounted for. It was nearly one, but none of the three in the office were quite ready for sleep themselves.

'Did you talk with Potter?' Severus asked, taking another bracing sip from his tumbler.

'I did,' Albus acknowledged. 'Thank you, by the way, for slipping the invigoration draught into his juice. I believe it gave him some much needed energy.'

'And what did he have to say on the parseltongue issue?' Severus asked, his eyes shrewd.

Albus hesitated. 'We did not get that far,' he admitted.

'Albus Dumbledore!' Minerva admonished, in a shrill voice that caused the headmaster to cringe. He held up his hands.

'We spoke about the attacks, and about the house-elf who visited him this summer and who – by the way – has been making attempts to ensure he returns to Privet Drive. He was overwrought already… I couldn't speak to everything in one sitting. And, as I have already said, I do not think that Harry's ability to speak parseltongue has any bearing on current events.'

Minerva chewed on her lip, looking torn, but Severus scoffed.

'Of course it makes a difference, headmaster,' he said acerbically. 'It has affected how the other students treat Potter. It has affected how he sees _himself_. And, more importantly, it is a mystery we cannot explain. But putting the brat's tender feelings aside for the moment… what do you mean about the elf?'

Albus explained what Harry had told him, to general shock.

'And Harry was sure that the elf did not set the contagion this summer?' said Minerva, looking nervous. 'There is no possibility he was mistaken?'

Albus shook his head. 'I do not think so,' he said. 'He seemed quite certain.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. 'And the word of a twelve-year-old – especially _this_ twelve-year-old – has always been _so_ reliable. The elf _told_ him he didn't do it, so the child believes him blindly. After all, a _Potter_ could never be mistaken in his trust,' he added, bitterly.

Minerva started a little at the implication, and Albus's eyes flashed. 'Harry is a good judge of character,' he said firmly. 'And house-elves are not known for their dishonesty either.'

'For their loyalty, however,' Severus pressed, 'they are renowned. Obedience is their highest call, and in many cases as powerful as an unbreakable vow would be to a wizard. And wizards are _not_ known for their universal virtue.'

'No,' Albus acknowledged with a small sigh, 'They are not.'

Minerva looked between them with a frown. 'Are you saying that you believe someone _ordered_ the elf to poison Harry, but he could not say when asked?'

Severus shrugged. Albus inclined his head. 'Anything is possible,' he said, 'Although personally, I still think it more likely that we are dealing with two different people.'

Severus rolled his eyes, but did not comment further.

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Harry did start using the Occlumency techniques again at bedtime, but they didn't fully help. Though he wasn't waking up _every_ night to the horrible dreams, they still haunted him regularly, made worse by the misery of his thoughts as he tried to clear his mind for bed at night. The entire school was still talking about him, avoiding him in lessons and the corridors, and making him feel more ostracised than he'd ever felt in his life at Hogwarts – including that dreadful time last year when he, Hermione and Neville had managed to lose Gryffindor house 150 points in one go.

He was thoroughly depressed by the end of the week following Justin's petrification, fed up with the entire school for their stupidity and fighting his own inward panic that he was somehow connected inexorably to Slytherin himself. Even Fred and George's antics – for both twins found the idea of his setting Slytherin's monster loose in the castle as absurd as Ron and Hermione had done – had not been able to cheer him up.

His final lesson of Friday afternoon was Potions.

Harry tried to stem his melancholy as he entered Snape's classroom. He didn't want to blow another assignment, not when his disastrous efforts the week before had left half the class with injuries and Harry himself picking frog guts out from under his fingernails for three days. Moreover, he was still sure Snape suspected him of the 'distraction' he had pulled a fortnight ago in order to give Hermione the chance to sneak into his stores for the Polyjuice Potion ingredients.

The potion, Hermione had told him and Ron earlier that same day, should be ready during the Christmas holiday. They were still working out exactly how to get Crabbe and Goyle on their own to steal the 'bits' of them they were going to need for the final ingredient… but apart from that, they were set to put their scheme into action. Which added another worry to Harry's growing list.

Quite apart from his concern that they might be caught in their attempt, he was terrified that Snape might legilimise him in an effort to find out about the firework, and pluck the information on their illegal brewing right out of Harry's head.

So, all in all, Harry was quite eager to finish his potion as best he could and get out of Snape's presence, before the latter could launch a full inquiry into Harry's life.

Most unfortunately, that was not to be.

As the bell rang to signal the end of the lesson, Snape barked at the class to cork a sample of their potion and drop it on his desk as they filed out. Harry followed the instruction, hoping that he'd managed a passing mark, but Snape caught his wrist as he went to lay his phial alongside Ron's.

'I wish to see you this evening, Potter,' Snape said silkily. Behind the professor's back, Harry saw Malfoy exchange a gleeful look with Theodore Nott. Clearly, the Slytherin boys thought Harry was due for another detention. Harry's face reddened.

'Why, sir?' Harry asked, trying not to sound rude. Snape sneered.

'Do not question me,' he said, releasing Harry's wrist but continuing to stare down at him with piercing eyes. 'Be here at eight o'clock, straight after dinner.'

Harry nodded, still feeling nervous. _Had Snape found them out_?

'Yes, sir,' he said in defeat. And he followed Ron and Hermione from the dungeon, trying not to look too guilty as he made his way out from under Snape's gaze.

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At eight o'clock, Harry bid goodbye to Ron and Hermione (who had walked him down to the office in accordance with the new school rules), and knocked on the door to Snape's office. The Potions master flung the door open immediately, beckoned Harry inside, and told the other two students to come back for Harry in half an hour, slamming the door closed again before either of them could inquire further.

Snape shot some sort of spell at the door to the office, and gestured wordlessly to Harry to have a seat. He himself stood behind his desk, piercing Harry with his dark-eyed stare. For once, Harry did not look away, curious as to why Snape had called him down.

'You are not the heir of Slytherin,' Snape stated, quite bluntly.

Harry was silent for several seconds.

'S-sorry, sir?' he said, when he finally found his voice. How could Snape know what he'd been worrying about, ever since the duelling club meeting?

'I said,' Snape reiterated, speaking very low and seriously, 'that you are not Salazar Slytherin's heir.'

'But how did you –'

Snape waved a hand, cutting Harry off. 'I have been a teacher at this castle for years, Potter. I am well accustomed to the wildfire spread of teenage gossip. I hear the rumours, as I am sure you have. But you should know – you are not the Heir.'

Harry swallowed nervously, looking at Snape's desk now instead of his face. 'I haven't set any monster on my classmates, professor,' he said, very quietly. 'But how can I know that I'm not his heir? Ron says parseltongue was Slytherin's gift – his sign. And _I_ am a Parselmouth. As far as I know, nobody else here is.'

'No,' Snape agreed, taking a seat and staring hard at Harry. 'That is quite true. I believe you are the only Parselmouth currently enrolled at Hogwarts. However, while certainly a curious development, the fact that you can speak to snakes means very little.'

'How can –'

But Snape cut through his query again with a snarl. 'If you do not cease to interrupt me, Potter,' he said, his eyes flashing, then I shall explain nothing. You can continue to wallow in your angst until the headmaster or your Head of House can coddle you back to reality.'

'Sorry, sir,' Harry said quickly, his face reddening.

Snape nodded irritably. 'As I was saying,' he continued, 'the mere fact that you have a gift associated with Salazar Slytherin does not coronate you heir to his legacy. Slytherin was probably the most famous parselmouth in history, but his family was not the only clan to show affinity for parseltongue, nor have his descendants been the only wizards since to have the gift. To my knowledge, neither of your parents were Speakers… but that does not mean the ability does not follow your family line in some respect. It is hardly proof that you are Slytherin's. Moreover, you are as moronic and impulsive as nearly every other member of the House of Lion. A Gryffindor if I ever met one.'

Snape spat the last line like an insult, but Harry could tell even he was surprised at the way Harry's face paled. Of course, Snape did not know – nobody knew – that the Sorting Hat had nearly placed Harry in Slytherin. Harry still was not sure what the Hat would have done, if he hadn't begged it not to put him with the Snakes.

'I will admit,' Snape continued, 'That I myself was caught by surprise by your little display at that abysmal _duelling club_. I wonder that nobody has ever realised you possessed the gift before now, or how you yourself failed to recognise it. Had you never spoken in Parseltongue before, Potter?'

'Once, I think,' Harry admitted. 'The summer before I started at Hogwarts. But I didn't really know what I was doing at the time. It just sort of… happens, I guess, when a snake's in front of me. I don't even realise I'm talking in another language when I do it.'

Snape looked intrigued. 'Interesting,' he said, almost to himself. 'I have never heard of parseltongue presenting in such a way… an unconscious use. But, of course, it is a rare gift, and as individual as most forms of inherent magic. There are very few case studies to compare with.'

Snape seemed to consider him closely for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. 'Slytherin has but one remaining heir now, a thousand years after his death. Only one wizard holds that title, and he has not been a student at Hogwarts for many years.'

Harry looked curiously at Snape, who finally seemed to be finished speaking. 'But, sir, how can that be? The Chamber couldn't have been opened by anyone else, could it?'

'As to that, Potter,' Snape said, 'I have no idea. I _do_ know that the true Heir of Slytherin could not have done it, from his current location. Whether these attacks are truly linked to the Chamber… it is difficult to say.'

'But if the Chamber has been opened before –'

Snape's eyes flashed again. 'And how, Potter,' he growled, leaning toward Harry with his hands flat on his desk. 'Would you have come to know _that_?'

Harry gulped, realising his mistake too late. 'Er – just something I heard one of the teachers say in passing, sir,' he stammered out.

Snape did not look convinced. He straightened, fixing Harry with his trademark glare. 'Do _not_ let me catch you or your little friends meddling in this, Potter. These are dangers far beyond your comprehension or skill. I know you fancy yourselves _detectives_ … but one hint of the three of you stepping out of line with your noses in business that does not concern you, and I will personally ensure that the headmaster follows through on the threat of expulsion he made on the first of September. Do I make myself clear?'

'Yes, sir,' said Harry quickly.

Snape nodded. 'Good. You may go.'

Harry got up hastily from his chair, hurrying toward the door. But before he left, he had to ask one more question.

'Did he do it sir, the last time? The Heir of Slytherin you know?'

Snape wheeled from his march toward the opposite wall, staring hard at Harry. For a long moment, he did not answer.

'I do not _know_ him, Potter. I doubt anyone does,' he said, very quietly. 'And as to your other query… it has never been proven either way. And that is the _last_ we shall speak on the subject.'

Harry nodded quickly, knowing he was lucky to have gleaned this much from the Potions master… though he could tell Snape knew much more than he was saying

'Yes, sir,' he agreed, nodding as he grasped the handle of the door. 'Good evening.'

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Severus watched the door swing shut behind Potter, an ominous feeling of foreboding taking root in his gut. _How_ had the child found out about the Chamber's history? Whatever Potter's promise, he was certain the brat would not quash his curiosity. And he was even more certain that Albus would do little to encourage Potter to keep his head down and his inquisitiveness in check. Albus may love the child, but he had all but handed him the key to the forbidden corridor last year. Whatever the man said, he allowed the boy far too much freedom and leeway. Sometimes, Severus was sure the headmaster _wanted_ Potter to face these dangers.

The prophecy…

He was almost sure that was Albus's motive. For better or worse, Potter would be their standard bearer if – or more likely _when_ – the Dark Lord finally rose. He had to be trained, and he had to be tested. Though Severus saw little point in the training or testing if in the process they destroyed the child.

Like so much, another quandary that came back to Severus's folly. Severus's mistakes.

Unconsciously, he rubbed a hand over his left arm, over the place where the Dark Mark remained etched in his skin, faded and dormant. It had not pained him in over a decade… but that meant little, if Albus was correct in his musings. Though the tell-tale burn had yet to ignite again, Severus could feel its ghost daily – a phantom noose that threatened each hour to tighten, to pull him again from his feet and the comfortable stability of his interwar world. Since the Chamber had 'opened,' the anxiety had only increased.

Because there _was_ only one Heir of Slytherin.

But he could not be here. Not now. Dumbledore had told him that the Dark Lord was in a secluded forest, in the mountains of Albania. He knew the sorcerer was bodiless and nearly completely powerless. He had managed to reach the philosopher stone's chamber only by inhabiting the body of another, and nearly killed the Potter boy in his attempt to regain strength. Quirrell had paid for his devotion with his life. The Dark Lord might be cunning, but Severus doubted he had already managed to return to the school.

No, it had to be someone else this time. Perhaps a Death Eater, or his spawn, attempting to regain a bit of dark glory, or take their fallen master's place. There were plenty who had avoided Azkaban, and plenty with young children attending the school. His thoughts flew immediately to Draco Malfoy, whose father – Lucius – had been one of the Dark Lord's most trusted servants during the height of his power. Lucius may have been entrusted with the secrets of the Chamber… but somehow, Severus suspected that Draco Malfoy was too young for such a task. He was proud, arrogant and boastful. He would not be the child to trust with a secret uprising against Dumbledore.

And Albus… Severus feared for him. If he was unable to stop these attacks, and soon, the Ministry would begin to discuss closing the school. They had before, when the Chamber had been opened the first time. Severus had rarely seen the headmaster so distressed. That Dumbledore did not know who was responsible frightened him more than the fact that there was some monster lurking in the castle in the first place.

And what would they do with Potter, if Hogwarts shut her doors?


	20. Yuletide

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 20: Yuletide**

Harry was sitting on his bed, working out his owl order to Hogsmeade for Dumbledore's Christmas gift, when Ron and Hermione appeared suddenly beside him, pulling off his father's invisibility cloak. Both looked excited.

'What's up?' he asked, glancing between them.

'It's ready, Harry,' Hermione told him, her face shining. 'The potion. I think we should do it at Christmas, right after the feast.'

Harry, Ron and Hermione had found it more difficult of late to work on their Polyjuice scheme. Dumbledore's increased security at the castle made it nearly impossible to sneak into Moaning Myrtle's bathroom between lessons, as they were led from one classroom to another by a teacher, and the corridors were all under patrol during breaks and after lessons had concluded for the day. They weren't forbidden from moving about the school – as long as they weren't alone – but Harry knew the three of them would draw suspicion if they were spotted together in the first floor corridor, where none but Hermione had any excuse to travel anyway. They'd been discovered there only a few days ago by Percy Weasley, who had been most disconcerted to find them 'investigating' the scene of the original attack. Percy – as a prefect – had permission to roam the corridors on his own, ostensibly to help the teachers in their efforts to patrol. He'd taken ten points from Gryffindor and given them a telling off that had left Harry's ears ringing for an hour.

After that unfortunate incident, Harry, Ron and Hermione had decided to take it in pairs to check on the potion, and to use the invisibility cloak for added cover. They reasoned that it would be less suspicious if the trio were not all together, in case they were discovered. Hermione had to be there, of course, because she was doing most of the legwork in the brewing of the Polyjuice, so Harry and Ron had alternated duties each day. It was even more paramount to use secrecy now, as most of the school had departed on the Hogwarts Express yesterday to spend Christmas at home.

'That's brilliant, Hermione!' said Harry with a beaming smile. Ron grimaced.

'Yeah, well, we've still got to work out how to get Crabbe and Goyle's hair though, don't we?' he pointed out, looking disgusted.

Hermione had decided that hair would be the easiest 'bit' of the Slytherins to add to the potion. She herself had already secured her sample – a hair from Millicent Bulstrode, who had partnered Hermione at the duelling club. Millicent had left for home yesterday – along with most of the Slytherin students – so Hermione planned to tell the others that she'd changed her mind and wanted to spend the holiday at Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, luckily, was staying. As were Crabbe and Goyle.

'I've worked that out,' said Hermione. 'Wait here.' She tossed the cloak at Harry and hurried from the boys' dormitory.

Ron shook his head, looking after her. 'I'll never get it,' he said.

'Get what?' asked Harry, as he folded the cloak carefully and stowed it away inside his trunk.

'How she manages to keep it all straight in her head,' Ron explained. 'She's got an answer for everything, that one.'

Harry laughed, but then sobered as he thought about what they were plotting. 'Four days…' he mused, thinking of the time until they'd put their scheme into action. 'Are you nervous?

Ron shrugged. 'Not really,' he said. 'I mean, I don't fancy being stuck as Vincent Crabbe the rest of my life… or getting expelled if we get caught but… Hermione always seems to know what she's doing, doesn't she? We'll be good, Harry.'

Harry nodded absently, still deep in thought. He _was_ fairly sure Hermione had thought of all the contingencies, but it didn't stop the nagging voice in his head. More than anything, if they were right about Draco… he knew Dumbledore would be highly disappointed in him for throwing himself into danger again, and Snape would probably skin them all alive.

Hermione burst back into the room at that point, slightly out of breath. In her hands, she held what looked like two fairy cakes.

'Er – thanks, but I'll wait for dinner,' said Ron, looking oddly at the treats.

Hermione glared. 'They aren't for you, Ron,' she snapped. ' _These_ are how you're going to get Crabbe and Goyle out of the way while we interrogate Malfoy, and how you'll be able to get a few of their hairs.'

Both Ron and Harry stared blankly back at her. Hermione rolled her eyes.

'I've filled them with a mild sleeping draught,' she explained. 'It's not too powerful, but it'll knock them out for a couple of hours… which is all we'll need.'

'Er, Hermione?' Harry ventured. 'That sounds brilliant… but won't some of the teachers notice if Crabbe and Goyle keel over at the feast? Or what if somebody else eats them by accident? We'll have a job explaining ourselves then,' he reasoned.

Hermione shook her head. 'I think we ought to wait until after the feast,' she said. 'You two will have to keep an eye out. Once Crabbe and Goyle are on their own, just set the cakes somewhere they'll be sure to see them. I think they're greedy enough that they'll eat them without too much question – don't you?'

'Yeah,' said Ron with a grin, before Harry could respond. 'Then what?'

'You'll have to hide them,' Hermione said primly. 'Pluck out a few of their hairs, then come up and meet me in the loo. I'll get the potion ready to go while you're dealing with Crabbe and Goyle. We'll have to time everything very closely, because the potion only lasts an hour and we don't want the real Crabbe and Goyle bursting in on us while we're with Malfoy.'

'We're going to need a lot of luck to pull this off without getting caught,' said Harry nervously. Hermione rounded on him at once. Even Ron was starting to look like he had misgivings now.

'Do you _want_ to find out if it's Malfoy?' she asked, her eyes blazing. 'Because _I_ don't want to be expelled either. _I_ think it's a lot worse what he's doing – setting a monster on Muggle-born students! But if you're not keen, let's scrap the whole scheme now.'

'No!' said Harry quickly, trying to calm her. 'No, Hermione, of course I don't want to call it off. Let's do it.'

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'I really don't have much else to offer at this point, Cornelius,' Albus said to the Minister.

He was seated in a corner table at The Three Broomsticks with Minerva and the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. The village pub was crowded with Christmas holidaymakers and shoppers in for a pint between errands. Hogsmeade was awash with the festoons of the season – bright ornaments glinting in the windows of the little shops, garlands and sprigs of holly adorning the doors and wrapped around the supporting beams in the bar. Outside, fresh snow was falling on an already white-covered high street, and Madam Rosmerta was wearing sparkling scarlet heels and a green spangled pinny. Albus and Minerva had snuck into the village to do a bit of last-minute shopping, and arranged to meet the Minister for tea after. The Minister, unsurprisingly, was looking for an update on the situation with the Chamber of Secrets.

'I know you're doing everything possible, Albus,' said the Minister firmly. 'And I mean to say – who else could manage these events, if not you? But Lucius is breathing down my neck at the moment… have to be sure I'm involved in the investigation, you understand.'

'I do,' said Albus, though he wanted to offer his own views on Lucius Malfoy's interference. 'But I am afraid, for the moment, all we can do is continue our efforts to discover the culprit, and ensure that our students continue to receive their education.'

'Quite right,' said Minerva primly, sipping at her gillywater. She was slightly less successful at hiding her annoyance with the Ministry.

'Of course, of course,' said Fudge. He pulled a silver pocket watch from his waistcoat, giving the time a glance. 'Well, I must be off. Have a few things to get through at the office before the holiday. A happy Christmas to you both, Albus, Minerva,' he tipped his green bowler hat to each in turn, rising from the table.

'The same to you, Cornelius,' Albus said politely, standing to shake Fudge's hand. Minerva offered her own, and the Minister departed.

'I cannot stomach that man,' said Minerva huffily, as Fudge's back disappeared through the door of the pub.

'He is harmless enough,' Albus said. 'But, I'll admit, Lucius Malfoy could prove a more difficult obstacle.'

Minerva scoffed. 'Arrogant and conniving man,' she agreed. 'But even he cannot create a problem at Hogwarts, Albus, surely.'

The headmaster frowned. 'I am less certain,' he said. 'But I will plan for any possibility, of course.' He signalled to Rosmerta for the bill.

'We ought to get back up to the school, Minnie,' he said, reaching into a pocket for some gold. 'I am uneasy having both of us out so long, even with most of the students gone.'

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The feast on Christmas day was every bit as delicious and entertaining as the year before, even though there were far less students than usual with the school in such a state of worry. Harry wore his new Weasley jumper down to dinner, which Mrs Weasley had sent that morning along with a delicious-looking plum pudding and a note of Christmas cheer. Harry felt a little pang of guilt again as he read her greetings, remembering the howler and the trouble he and Ron had caused her family with their stupidity at the start of term.

Harry received no gift from the Dursleys… though he was hardly surprised at that. However, Ron had given him a quidditch book and a sack of assorted sweets, and Hermione an extravagant new quill. Dumbledore and McGonagall sent gifts as well, and Harry was delighted with the handsome wand holster, dragon-hide boots, and fat bag of fizzing Whizbees. He was a bit less thrilled with the horse-haired comb… which he was sure McGonagall had insisted on, but Ron and Hermione had got a few laughs from that particular parcel.

Harry gave Ron and Hermione both tickets to a professional quidditch match next summer – Scotland vs. Austria. He'd got the idea from McGonagall, who had helped him secure the tickets and offered to chaperone the outing in the final week of next summer's holiday. The teams would be playing in Edinburgh, and Harry had never been to the city before. Professor McGonagall had promised they could stay the day after the match, to do a bit of sight-seeing.

For McGonagall, Harry had bought a new hat in the shade of deep forest green he'd noticed she favoured in her teaching robes, and a cosy tartan scarf. For Dumbledore, he'd found a beautiful telescope with crystal lens, and a series of absolutely absurd new pair of socks that Hermione, in particular, had thoroughly enjoyed helping him choose from the catalogue.

Everyone in the Great Hall was merry and giggling with the Christmas Spirit. The ceiling was snowy and white, little flakes raining down and dissipating just before they reached their heads. Dumbledore and Flitwick had put up twinkling fairy lights around the hall, and McGonagall's enchanted suits of armour serenaded the assembly with softly sung carols as they dug into the delicious meal. Harry was pleased to see that the Transfiguration teacher, who was seated next to Dumbledore and looking very giggly as she sipped at a holiday glass of mead, was wearing the new hat he'd bought her. Dumbledore shot him a wink as he grinned up at them, and leaned over to kiss McGonagall gently on the cheek. She blushed a furious red and gulped a bit more of her drink, while Harry sat, gobsmacked and open-mouthed, staring at the two of them.

'What is it, Harry?' said Hermione, catching his expression. Harry shook himself.

'Oh, er, nothing… it's just,' he reddened a bit himself. 'Dumbledore just kissed McGonagall. On the cheek, but still.' To his surprise, Hermione giggled as well.

'It's not all that unexpected, is it?' she said, giving him a sly look. Harry stared. 'Oh, Harry!' she said in exasperation. 'Sometimes you are so incredibly blind. And anyway – it's Christmas! The holiday spirit is all around.'

And to his shock, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek in turn.

'Oi!' said Ron, looking between them in astonishment from the other side of the Gryffindor table. Beside him, Ginny – who was still looking rather drawn – seemed a bit lost and depressed. Hermione merely laughed again, and leaned across the table to give Ron a peck on the cheek as well. He leaned away from her, looking horrified and more than a little afraid. Ginny suddenly giggled as well, while Hermione scoffed.

They ate their way through five superb courses, and Harry was starting to feel sated and sleepy as the pudding finally finished. Hermione elbowed him in the ribs, nodding toward the Slytherin table, where Malfoy and several of the remaining students were getting up to leave the Great Hall. Crabbe and Goyle were still pigging out on the remaining pudding.

'You and Ron had better get ready,' she said in a low voice to Harry. 'I'll be waiting for you upstairs.'

She darted from the table, a purposeful expression on her face, joining the little group of students exiting the Great Hall. Ginny drifted away shortly after, with the few remaining students from her form, and Fred and George.

'Better get going,' Harry muttered to Ron, when at last they were the only students remaining at the Gryffindor table. The staff had already left as well. Only Crabbe and Goyle remained, still eating. Ron nodded grimly with a glance at the Slytherins, and he and Harry went out into the entrance hall.

'Where should we leave them?' asked Ron, pulling the fairy cakes Hermione had made out of his pockets. Harry noticed the icing was slightly smeared, and the cakes had bits of lint clinging to them. He siphoned the dust away with a quick cleansing spell.

'Let's set them here, on the bannister,' he said, making for the staircase directly in the line of sight from the Great Hall doors. Ron nodded, placing the cakes precariously on the wood.

'Now what?'

'Now, we wait,' said Harry, pulling his invisibility cloak from his school bag. He beckoned Ron to him and flung the silvery fabric over both of them, hiding their figures from view. They backed a little away from the staircase, keeping an eye on the doors to the Great Hall.

It was not a long wait. Crabbe and Goyle soon came through, arms laden with cracker prizes and bits of pudding they'd managed to nick for later. Their eyes fell immediately on the two fairy cakes. With identical looks of greed, they hurried to the staircase, stuffing their mouths with the sweets.

'So thick,' muttered Ron in disgust. Harry grunted in agreement.

No sooner had the boys eaten half a cake each, that they keeled over completely. Ron and Harry moved quickly to drag them out of sight and into the shadows behind the stairs. Harry nudged Ron, jerking his head at a large cupboard in the corner. Ron nodded back, and they heaved the unconscious Slytherins into the cabinet. Harry plucked out a few of Goyle's hairs, while Ron did Crabbe. They also stole their shoes, since their own were sure to be too tight once they'd transformed into the Slytherin boys.

' _Colloportus_ ,' said Harry, sealing the doors of the cupboard shut once they'd retrieved their necessities. 'Let's go,' he said, turning to Ron. He flung the cloak over both of them again, and they hurried up the stairs to join Hermione.

'It's us!' Harry called, as he and Ron entered the lavatory. Hermione gave a stifled cry of surprise from their usual cubicle, sticking her head out anxiously.

'About time,' she hissed. Ron rolled his eyes.

'We went as fast as we could, Hermione,' he complained.

'Never mind,' she said impatiently. 'Just come in, quickly, and give me your hairs.'

They did as she directed. Hermione pinched each set of hair in turn, adding it to a glass. Harry took his back from her in disgust – it had turned an unappetising yellow-brown.

'Cheers,' said Ron grumpily, raising his own glass in a mock toast. Harry stilled his arm before he could drink.

'Wait,' he said. 'We ought to take separate cubicles… we won't fit in here together once we start to transform.'

The others nodded in agreement, and he and Ron hurried into adjoining cubicles. Harry latched the door, and drunk the potion down as fast as possible, pinching his nose against the flavour. Immediately, he felt his skin begin to itch, then burn, as it transformed beneath him. His insides began to roil, and he bent hurriedly over the toilet – momentarily sure he was about to sick up. Beside him, he heard the tinkle of glass as someone dropped their tumbler, and a deep moan he thought was probably Ron experiencing a similar sensation of nausea. After a few horrible moments, the sensations faded in his extremities and his intestines stopped cramping. He pulled on the larger set of robes that Hermione had pilfered from the laundry for him and stepped out of the cubicle, looking around. Everything was slightly blurred about the edges. Realising the problem, Harry pulled off his spectacles and stowed them in a pocket. Apparently, Goyle had perfect sight.

'Harry?' came a deep voice to his left. Harry turned to see Crabbe – Ron – standing with a dumbfounded expression on his face. 'Blimey mate,' he said, staring hard at Harry, 'that's scary, that is.'

'Look at yourself,' Harry said in Goyle's deep grunt, nodding Ron toward the mirror. Ron examined Crabbe's face closely.

'Know what, Harry?' he said. 'I reckon this might actually be the weirdest thing we've ever done.'

Harry laughed. The sound was much more guttural than he had anticipated, startling him.

'Hermione?' Harry called, rapping his knuckles on the door to the first cubicle. 'You nearly ready? We'd better be off if we've only one hour.'

'I – I don't think I'm going to come,' Hermione called back, her voice strangely high-pitched and breathy. Harry was confused. He didn't think he'd ever actually heard Millicent Bulstrode speak before, but he'd always imagined her voice to be rough and throaty – like the hags she closely resembled.

'Are you mad?' Ron said, trying the latch on the door himself. It was locked. 'Hermione – we've been working on this for months! You can't back out now.'

'No, really,' she said. Harry thought she sounded almost teary. 'I – I can't go. But you'd better hurry up before the potion wears off. I'll wait for you here.'

Harry and Ron looked at each other, teetering. Harry was concerned about Hermione, but he also knew they had only one precious hour to get this done. They'd already wasted a good five minutes.

'Let's go,' he said firmly to Ron. They pulled on their stolen shoes, and made from the room.

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Severus was headed up to Albus's office for Christmas tea. He'd just come up the dungeon stairs, and was crossing the entrance hall when he heard an odd muffled shouting, and frantic pounding.

'What on earth?' he said in confusion, sweeping his eyes through the entrance hall. They alighted on a tall cabinet in the shadow under the staircase. Severus stood back, but pointed his wand at the latch.

' _Alohomora_ ,' he said, giving the wand a flick. The doors of the cupboard flew open at once, and two large figures fell one on top of the other onto the marble floor.

'Crabbe, Goyle,' he said, approaching them and hauling the boys roughly to their feet. 'What is going on here?'

Both boys were ruddy-faced and dishevelled. They looked stupidly at one another.

'Dunno,' said Goyle dully, after a moment. 'Woke up in there.'

Severus narrowed his eyes. 'What do you mean, you woke up in there?'

Crabbe chimed in, blinking stupidly in the sudden illumination of the entrance hall. 'We was comin' out o' the feast,' he said. 'Don' remember nothin' after that. When we woke up, we was in tha' cabinet.' He pointed his meaty fist over his shoulder.

Severus stared. It seemed rather like a childish prank to him, but there were not many students left at the school who would be stupid enough to pull such a prank on two of _his_ students. Perhaps Fred and George Weasley, in a bit of misguided holiday cheer… or perhaps Potter. But even for Potter, this seemed incredible. He was suddenly struck by a second odd fact.

'Where are your shoes?' he asked, sneering down at two pair of dirty socks.

Crabbe looked down in surprise, wriggling his toes. 'Gone,' he said stupidly, raising his head again. Goyle shrugged, indifferent.

'I think we was eatin' somethin,' Goyle put in, his eyes screwed up in an effort to recall.

'Yeah!' said Crabbe, suddenly remembering too. 'We was eatin' _those_!' he pointed at two halves of half-eaten fairy cake, lying close to the bottom of the staircase. Severus raised an eyebrow.

' _Accio_!' he said, pointing his wand at the cakes. They flew into his outstretched hand at once. A little disgusted, Severus gave the half-stale cakes a sniff with his long, hooked nose. Perhaps a hint of lavender…

His suspicion growing, Severus cast Scarpin's Revelaspell over the fairy cakes. He stared hard at the list of ingredients that popped up.

'These have been dosed with a draught of sleeping potion,' he said, turning to glare at his incompetent students. 'Where did you get them?'

Both students stared dully back. 'They was sittin' right there,' Goyle said, pointing at the staircase. 'On the bannister.'

Severus scowled. 'It is incredibly foolish to eat food when you do not know where it has been prepared,' he said in a sharp tone. 'I will take fifteen points from each of you for your stupidity. Now, get off to the common room.'

The boys looked sullen, but they scurried away. Severus stared hard at the cakes again. It seemed rather an odd choice of potion – only enough potency to knock the drinker out for an hour or two, at most. It was usually used to calm fussy infants, or else in hospital for mild sedation to set an injury. The brew was relatively simple, easy enough for a young student. He taught it in his third-year lessons, in fact.

Which seemed to rule out Potter, who could barely keep up with the second-year course work. Severus banished the half-eaten cakes with a scowl, and resumed his trek up the staircase to the headmaster's office.

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Harry and Ron, meanwhile, had just re-entered the girls' lavatory on the first floor, stumbling slightly in shoes four sizes too large. They kicked them off as they entered, Ron hurrying to bin them. Harry shrugged out of his overlarge robes and threw those aside as well.

'Hermione,' he called as he pulled his own Gryffindor robes back over his head. 'We're back. We've loads to tell you.'

'Yeah!' Ron said, also changing. 'Wasn't Malfoy after all, turns out… but we found out when the Chamber was opened before and Malfoy's dad has got –'

But he broke off, looking startled. Muffled weeping was coming from Hermione's cubicle, which was still closed and locked. Harry and Ron exchanged wary looks.

'Hermione?' Harry called in a softer voice, knocking lightly on the cubicle door. 'Are you alright?'

He was suddenly bathed in an icy chill, as Myrtle floated through the door and right through his body. He had never seen her looking so excited.

'Just you wait,' she said, beaming at him. 'She'll never be able to walk through the corridors again!' With a gleeful giggle, Myrtle floated past him and perched above the row of basins, her eyes alight with anticipation. Harry stared after her, a growing dread in his stomach.

'Hermione…' he called again. 'Come out, won't you?'

The door unlatched with a little click and Hermione sidled through, her face aimed toward the floor. Harry and Ron jumped back in shock.

Hermione was only distinguishable by the long mane of frizzy brown hair… everywhere else, she was covered in shiny black fur. There were pointed ears sticking out from the top of her head, and Harry was sure the lump in the back of her robes was concealing a tail.

'It was a cat hair, I think,' said Hermione softly, finally raising her head. Harry was unpleasantly startled to find that her normally hazel eyes had gone a vivid yellow, their pupils stretched into slits. Behind him, Ron swore audibly. Harry swallowed.

'But, the potion was supposed to only last an hour,' he said, bracingly. 'Ron and I only just changed back completely… yours ought to wear off soon.'

Hermione shook her head. Her cat-eyes did not seem to tear properly, but Harry could read the distress plain as day. '

The Polyjuice Potion is only meant for human transformation,' she said quietly. 'There's all sorts of warnings in the book. I – I don't know _how_ I'm going to be able to transform back again!'

And she buried her furry face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

Harry didn't know what to say. He pulled her against his shoulder, giving Ron a sharp look. Ron did not seem to want to approach too closely, still standing in total shock against the cracked marble basins.

'Er –' he said, quelling under Harry's furious gaze. 'Look, why don't we get down to the hospital wing? Madam Pomfrey will set you right, Hermione, and she never asks a lot of questions. Fred told me she doesn't want to scare off the students who need her help, making them feel like they might get into trouble if they need to go to hospital.'

'Yeah, good idea,' said Harry firmly.

It took them a few minutes to coax Hermione into leaving the loo, and even then they had to let her use the invisibility cloak. She did not remove it until they'd made it into the hospital wing and closed the door firmly behind them. Mercifully, the ward was deserted. Harry went off toward the office in search of Madam Pomfrey.

'Mr Potter,' the mediwitch said, looking up from some paperwork as he knocked politely on her office door. 'Oh dear, not feeling well on Christmas, are we? Too much to eat at the feast, dear? Bit of a dicky tummy?' She tutted over him as she spoke, pressing a hand to his forehead. Harry shrugged her off.

'Oh no, Madam Pomfrey, I'm fine – thanks,' he said hurriedly, breaking her stride. 'I, er, actually came in with Hermione… she needs to see you.'

Madam Pomfrey frowned at him, but bustled into the ward without further fuss. 'Oh my,' she said, catching sight of Hermione. She hurried over to drag the distraught girl into bed.

'You will be able to put her right, won't you?' asked Ron anxiously, as Madam Pomfrey hurried to turn down the sheets and fetch a pair of hospital pyjamas.

'Of course,' she said primly. 'But I'm afraid the process could take a while. You two – out! You can visit and bring her some of her school things in the morning.'

So Harry and Ron said a miserable goodbye to Hermione, leaving Madam Pomfrey to fuss over her.

'Not the best end to Christmas after all, was it?' Ron said dejectedly, as he and Harry re-entered their dormitory.

'No,' Harry agreed. 'But at least we're a bit farther on the Chamber.'

'I still can't _believe_ it wasn't Malfoy,' Ron said, shaking his head.

'I know,' Harry agreed, changing into his own pyjamas. He was weary from the long day. Although it was still fairly early in the evening, he and Ron both decided to call it a night, begging off Fred and George's scheme for a moonlit snowball fight in the grounds. 'But I'd still like to know – who opened the Chamber last time? Fifty years ago?'

Ron yawned, shrugging. 'Maybe Hermione will have some ideas. We can ask her tomorrow.'

Harry nodded, climbing into bed as Ron doused the lamps. 'Night!' Ron said, getting into his own four-poster and drawing the curtains.

'Yeah, happy Christmas,' said Harry, shutting his own. He fell asleep in seconds.

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'Ah, Severus,' the headmaster said, holding his arms wide in greeting as Severus entered the study. Minerva smiled at him too, hiccupping slightly. Severus noticed she'd had quite a lot of mead already.

'Come and sit, come and sit,' said Albus, his eyes twinkling as he ushered Severus into a chair by the fire. Outside, wintry gusts blew against the mullioned windows, but the study was warm and cheerful.

'What kept you, Severus?' Minerva asked. 'We expected you some quarter of an hour ago.'

'I ran into two of my students,' Severus admitted. 'They had been locked in a cupboard in the entrance hall, stripped of their shoes, and apparently drugged into sleep for an hour or so.'

Both professors looked surprised. Minerva giggled a bit tipsily. Albus frowned. 'Do you need assistance in dealing with the situation?'

Severus shrugged. 'It was relatively harmless. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle is in any way injured, and they were foolish in the extreme – eating unknown sweets from an unknown source. If I ever discover the perpetrator, of course, I will take necessary disciplinary action. But it seems just some Christmas prank.'

He accepted a glass of drink from Dumbledore with a little nod, and they exchanged idle prattle for some time.

'What news from the Ministry, Albus?' he asked at a break in the conversation. Though he knew the headmaster had met with Fudge in the village a few days prior, he hadn't yet had the chance to inquire about it. Albus and Minerva exchanged a glance.

'Nothing, particularly,' said Albus carefully. 'Although, it does seem that Lucius Malfoy is making something of a stir over these attacks.'

Severus scowled. 'You need to watch out for him, Albus,' he warned. 'Though the governors and the Minister are both loyal to you, Malfoy holds a great deal of sway that is years of scheming, blackmail, and conveniently-directed gold in the making. He could prove more dangerous than he seems.'

Albus inclined his head. 'I do realise, Severus,' he assured him. 'But I think I am more than up to handling Lucius Malfoy, if it comes down to it.'

Severus was less positive, but he let the subject drop.

'I am surprised,' he offered instead, 'That you do not have the brat staying with you for the holiday. I half expected to run into him up here.'

'We felt that _Harry_ ,' Albus began pointedly, 'Would like to spend Christmas with his friends. We sent parcels, of course, and we'll take him to lunch tomorrow instead.'

Severus could not entirely hide his grimace. 'You've grown quite sentimental in your golden years, old man,' he said. Albus chuckled.

'Perhaps,' he agreed, toasting Severus with his drink.

'Poor Ms Granger though,' Minerva said, looking worried.

'What is the matter with her?' Severus asked, sipping at his goblet and only half listening.

'Well, we're not quite sure,' Minerva admitted. 'You know Poppy – she doesn't like to pry. But she flooed just before you arrived. It seems Ms Granger had some sort of accident… and you cannot repeat this, Severus, you know it would be against all protocols…'

Severus waved a hand in lazy acknowledgement, and Minerva continued.

'She seems to have developed cat-like fur and features. She is being treated in hospital but is understandably distressed… I thought at first that perhaps she had tried to manage the animagus transformation and got herself caught halfway between forms – that can happen, especially if the witch tries the magic before the magical core has matured – but Poppy says the usual reversal charms had no effect. She's got her on a potions regimen now, but she says it could be weeks until Ms Granger is back to normal.'

Severus was intrigued, despite himself. 'That would suggest that whatever put her in that state was probably a potion as well,' he said, musing aloud.

'Yes,' Albus agreed, a bit of warning in his eyes. 'But, as Minerva has already stated, we cannot pry further. It is a breach of Ms Granger's right to privacy, and our own school policy.'

'Of course, headmaster,' said Severus. He didn't particularly care, anyway.

'This year has been very hard on Harry and his friends already,' said Minerva, sounding sad. 'And I had so hoped we were in for an easier time of it this term.'

Albus sighed heavily. 'I suspect, my dear, that every year from this point forward – at least through Harry's time at Hogwarts – will hold its own unique challenges.'

Severus grunted in honest agreement.

'I don't doubt,' Albus continued, pouring them all another round, 'that Harry himself knows this. I'm sure he often longs to be someone else.'

Severus froze suddenly, the goblet halfway to his mouth. Like a sudden burst of light, everything fell into place at once. The firework mucking up his classroom. The boomslang skin missing from his store cupboard. Ms Granger in hospital wing – sporting the signs of a botched potion – perhaps one that should _not_ have been used with animal ingredients. Crabbe and Goyle shoved roughly into a cupboard, without their shoes, put into a doze that would last an hour or two…

The idiotic, foolhardy, rule-breaking, _suicidal BRATS!_

He dropped the goblet in shock and rage, sending mead over the carpet. He rose from his chair in a white fury, not even bothering to clean the spill.

'Yes, headmaster,' Severus spat, clenching his fists so tightly he thought his nails might draw blood. 'I suspect he does.'

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 _Harry was with Ginny Weasley, in a dark and unfamiliar room with dim lighting and huge pillars of stone. The flickering flames of the low torches were tinted green, giving the cavernous space an eerie glow. He could barely make out Ginny's small figure at the opposite end of the long chamber, but recognised her vivid red hair against the darker crimson and gold of her dressing gown._

 _A small book lay open at his own feet, its pages glowing with the same green haze as the lighting in the room._

 _Ginny was not looking at him, but staring upward at a huge stone statue, towering thirty feet or more in the air. The statue appeared to be a wizard – with a long carved beard and an ancient face. As Harry watched, Ginny raised an arm and spoke to the statue._

 _To Harry's surprise, the great stone man's mouth began to open, as if in answer. Harry could hear a heavy, distant rumbling, growing closer and closer. He began to move toward Ginny. He could sense imminent danger in that sound – and she was just standing there._

 _He called out to her, but she did not turn._

 _He quickened his pace, running flat out now. The hairs on his arms began to raise…_

'Harry, HARRY!' Hands were shaking him hard, and Harry awoke with a start, drenched in sweat and feeling decidedly ill. He wiped a shaky hand over his brow. His head and heart were both pounding.

'You alright, mate?' Ron asked, looking at him in deep concern.

'Fine,' Harry tried to say, but the word caught in his throat. With a horrible jolt, Harry realised he was going to be sick. He shrugged Ron's hands off his shoulders and bolted for the door to the loo, barely making it in time to vomit tremendously into the toilet.

'Easy, Harry,' Ron said in alarm, hovering in the doorway as Harry continued to retch dryly for several minutes, though his stomach was now completely empty. Finally able to stop, Harry sunk to his knees on the marble floor, laying his head against the porcelain. The coolness felt soothing against the ache in his skull. He barely heard Ron approach, until the later offered him a damp cloth.

'Thanks,' said Harry croakily, taking the flannel and wiping at his face.

'You look a right mess,' said Ron, whose own face was white. 'Do you want me to send for Madam Pomfrey?'

Harry shook his head, not daring to lift it from the porcelain. Though he didn't feel the immediate urge to sick up again, his stomach was still burning unpleasantly and his head was aching fit to burst. He felt weak and feverish. He pressed the damp flannel against his eyes and his forehead hard, trying to ease the pain.

'Harry…' Ron said worriedly from above him.

'I'm _fine_ , Ron,' Harry said, turning his head a little to the side so Ron could hear him. 'It's just from the nightmare – it'll pass.'

'The _nightmare_?!' Ron said in disbelief. 'Mate, you've been speaking Welsh for fifteen minutes, and you still can't get off the floor. I've never heard of a _nightmare_ that does that.'

'Yeah, well,' said Harry, pushing back from the toilet and leaning against the wall. He took it as a good sign that he didn't immediately need to dive for the bowl again. 'Mine are a little worse than normal, I think.'

Ron stared hard at him. 'I know,' he said quietly. Harry looked up in surprise. Ron shrugged. 'I've talked you down a few times, when you've had trouble in your sleep. But Harry, I've never seen even _you_ get this shook up before.'

Harry filed _that_ revelation away for later thought, when thinking too much didn't feel like it might make his head explode.

'It doesn't usually get like this,' he admitted. 'But it isn't the first time it's happened either.'

Ron nodded seriously. They were silent for a few minutes, Harry leaning with his eyes closed against the wall, still trying to ensure his nausea was in check.

'What was it about?' Ron asked in a low voice. 'The dream?'

Harry tried to recall the nightmare. The details were hazy, and disappearing even as he reached for them.

'I don't really remember…' he said, slowly. 'I think your sister was there though.'

'You had a nightmare about _Ginny_?' said Ron, incredulous. 'I mean, I know she gives me nightmares sometimes, but...'

'Yes… no, I don't know. I can't remember…' Harry said again, pressing a hand to his eyes as he tried to concentrate. 'Ginny was there, I think, but I don't think I was afraid of her. I think I was afraid _for_ her. But I don't know why. There was… green fire.'

Ron looked a bit scared now. 'There's not seer blood in your family, is there?' he asked in a nervous voice.

Harry laughed. 'No, I don't think so,' he said. 'Probably just a weird dream from all that food at dinner.'

He pushed himself off the floor, gaining his feet a little unsteadily. 'Let's get back to bed,' he said to Ron. The red-head nodded, though he still looked wary. Harry led the way from the loo.

Partway back to their beds, he stumbled, the room tilting as his head fogged. Ron caught him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He frowned.

'You're burning up, Harry,' Ron said worriedly, moving the hand from his shoulder to his cheek and looking nervous again. 'I think I better get McGonagall.'

'No!' said Harry quickly. The last thing he needed was everyone making a fuss over him on Christmas night, just because of a stupid nightmare. 'No, I'll be fine. This will pass by the morning, I swear. And if it doesn't, I promise I'll see Madam Pomfrey tomorrow, ok?'

Ron still looked uncertain, but helped Harry under the covers again.

'At least leave the curtains open, alright?' he said, as he climbed into his own bed. 'So I'll know if you get ill again.' Harry nodded, trying to calm his pounding head and shut his eyes.

He wished he could remember the dream.


	21. The Drowned Diary

**A/N** : Thank you again to all the wonderful readers and reviewers! I actually managed to get through another chapter, although I'd initially thought I wouldn't have much time before week-end to write… We're getting into the thick of things now. Enjoy!

 **Anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far. To answer your queries… Harry's dream is not _quite_ premonition, exactly. Vision would be closer. Similar to his nightmares earlier in the year about a dark forest (and later, in canon, from the beginning of book 4 through book 7, and arguably once very early in book 1), he is connected by his scar to Voldemort – and to the other… parts… of Voldemort. He doesn't really realise this as yet, although Dumbledore might (remember that he is most anxious to have Harry instructed in Occlumency when he discovers that he's been dreaming of the Accursed Mountains). When his 'nightmares' are really these contemporaneous visions, that's when they tend to make him physically ill. So, the scene he dreamt was not a premonition, because it wasn't happening in the future, but rather happening at the moment he dreamt it. I view these visions as directly linked to Voldemort's strength, which is why when Harry has the strange dream about Quirrell's turban in the first book, he cannot remember it the next day, though by book five he is quite able to recall most of the details when he encounters the dreams. As to your second query… I believe you will discover the answer in this new chapter. I hope you enjoy!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 21: The Drowned Diary**

Harry and Ron both woke late on Boxing Day, after their interrupted sleep the night before. To Ron's great relief, Harry was much better this morning, as he had predicted. His headache and nausea had gone, though Ron said he was still looking a bit peaky. The boys headed down to breakfast, where they found much of the remaining students trickling in on the later side as well, many bleary-eyed and still yawning.

'What's up with you?' Ron asked George as he and Harry sank onto the bench opposite the twins at the Gryffindor table.

George groaned. 'Keep it down, won't you Ron?' he said with a wince. He and Fred were both looking wan, and Fred pushed his eggs away, a tad green behind the ears.

'They thought they'd have a little Christmas revelry,' offered Percy from the other end of the table, who was quite chipper and talking in an unnecessarily loud voice. George winced again.

Harry was confused. 'What do you mean?' he asked, looking between Percy and the twins. Percy smirked in a satisfied sort of way.

'They got hold of a bit of Firewhisky last night,' he said. 'I caught them at it with their friends 'bout three in the morning.'

'Yeah, well, you already took points, didn't you,' said Fred weakly. 'No need to rub it in.'

Percy's grin grew more pronounced. 'I ought to have gone for McGonagall about your two,' he said, waving a fork sternly at Fred. 'You're lucky I didn't want to disturb her Christmas. Not so much fun this morning though, is it boys?' He looked very smug indeed as he watched both twins trying to choke down their porridge.

Ron laughed.

'Where's Hermione got to?' Percy asked, turning to Ron and Harry. They frowned.

'She's in hospital wing,' Harry said. 'Had a bit of an accident yesterday. We'll go up and see her after breakfast – bring her some of her things. We'll have to ask Ginny to get them from the dormitory.'

Ginny came in at that moment, muttering a good morning to them all. She agreed to bring them Hermione's school bag.

A little scroll of parchment suddenly appeared against Harry's glass of pumpkin juice. He unrolled it with a grin, recognising Dumbledore's narrow, slanted handwriting.

'Brilliant!' he said, as he finished reading the missive.

'What's up?' asked Ron through a mouthful of eggs.

'Dumbledore and McGonagall want to have lunch,' Harry said, taking a slice of toast. 'In Hogsmeade. The note said to meet them in the entrance hall at midday.'

As he finished eating, a second scroll popped into place in precisely the same spot. Harry stared, feeling his heart sink a bit. He recognised the script on this missive as well.

'What does Snape want with me?' he wondered aloud, reaching for the note. Ron grimaced in sympathy.

 _Potter – you will meet me tonight in my office at 8 p.m. sharp. Do not be late. SS_

Harry had a nasty feeling about this.

'What does he want?' asked Ron, trying to read the note over Harry's shoulder.

Harry shrugged. 'He doesn't say, just to meet him tonight. Maybe my last Potions essay was rubbish or something, and he wants me to pickle rat liver to make it up'

'Git,' said Ron, in a routine sort of way. He stuffed the last of his breakfast into his mouth, standing up from the table. 'Come on, Harry, let's go get Hermione's stuff from Ginny.'

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Severus was seething.

He'd begged off breakfast, taking coffee in his quarters instead. He didn't think he could stomach seeing Potter before the time he'd scheduled to berate the moronic brat. And he didn't particularly care to see Albus yet either, when he'd only barely been able to quell his temper long enough to get out of that office last night.

Upon realising what Potter and his equally foolish sidekicks had done, Severus's instinct was to go for him immediately, and throttle the boy. Not only for his _complete_ disregard for school rules _again_ , but for putting himself and his friends in incredible danger, _again_. The boy was so thick-headed; it was a wonder they'd managed to keep him alive to date.

And the worst part was, he couldn't say anything to the headmaster. Because he couldn't _prove_ anything. Granger's invalidity was not to be used for punishment… indeed, Severus really had no right at all to even _know_ that particular bit of trivia. And without it, he had no conclusive proof of what the trio had done. Even with the information, his suspicions were mostly conjecture and logic – he couldn't _prove_ anything. Albus would probably lecture the child if he knew, but Potter wouldn't get into any real trouble. In fact, the old man would probably be impressed that his darling team of Gryffindor brats had been resourceful enough to think of Polyjuice Potion in their attempts to discover the culprit for themselves. Minerva might side more with Severus's view on things, but she would be the first to warn against using Poppy's information. They would force his silence, and his hands would be tied.

So he had written off their concern at his momentary rage with some tosh about a sudden headache, and bid them both good evening. And then he had spent several hours contemplating exactly how _he_ was going to deal with the brat himself.

Right now, the best course of action still seemed to be throttling. Disgusted by his weakness, he dosed himself with one of his own calming draughts, trying to take the edge off his fury. The potion settled the worst of the temper, though it left him a bit lethargic. He sank onto his sofa with a fresh cup of coffee, thinking.

Eight o'clock. Ten hours. Then, he would ensure that Potter was never foolish enough to assume he could pull the wool over Severus Snape's eyes again.

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'Ah, Harry,' said Albus, smiling as the child bounded down the steps to join him and Minerva in the entrance hall at noon. 'Are you ready?'

'Yes, sir,' Harry said, beaming back.

'Then fasten your cloak, and put your gloves and cap on,' said Minerva, fussily checking the collar of Harry's travelling cloak. 'The weather is quite nasty at the moment.'

Harry allowed her ministrations, pulling on his thick woollen hat. 'Where are we going, sir?' he asked.

'To another pub in the village, Harry,' Albus replied. 'It is called the Hog's Head. In my opinion, the pub is a little less conducive to a friendly chat than the Three Broomsticks, but Minerva –'

'Rightfully insisted,' said Minerva primly, shooting him a glare.

'I agreed to go, my dear,' he said, putting up his hands in surrender.

'Under great duress,' she muttered, leading the way toward the doors. Albus gave Harry, who was looking in puzzlement between the two of them, a small wink, ushering him after Minerva.

The grounds were indeed very cold and blustery. Albus cast warming charms over all three of their cloaks to keep out the worst of the chill.

'How was your Christmas, Harry?' he asked the boy as they walked.

'Wonderful – thanks, sir!' Harry said, grinning. 'Thank you for the gifts, by the way.'

'And same to you,' said Minerva, giving his shoulder a squeeze. 'Though you didn't have to get us anything.'

'I was particularly partial to those excellent knee-highs with the blue pattern of dancing pixies,' Albus added, his eyes twinkling. 'It is so very hard to get pixies to act so civilised in life.' Harry laughed.

A short while later, they were making their way down the high street in Hogsmeade, toward the old building with its low handing boar's head sign set alone halfway down the street. Albus pushed the door ajar and held it for Harry and Minerva to precede him through.

'Good afternoon, Abe,' Minerva said, nodding to the barkeep. The little pub was deserted but for themselves, and Aberforth was wiping down the counter. He turned at her greeting, narrowing his eyes at the headmaster.

'Back again, Albus?' he said gruffly. 'Something of a surprise that – thought I would have a month or two before you resurfaced.' His expression softened slightly as he greeted Minerva in turn. 'Minnie – always a pleasure.'

'Ah well, Christmas cheer, Aberforth, you know,' said Albus lightly, placing a protective hand on Harry's shoulder.

'And who's this, then?' Aberforth said, nodding at the child. 'Bit young for a pint, isn't he? You two dragging your students out underage now?'

'This is Harry, Aberforth,' Minerva said, a bit of warning in her tone. 'Harry Potter.'

'Is he now?' Aberforth replied, his eyes raking the boy's famous forehead. 'That's interesting then. He does look like his father, right enough.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed, squeezing Harry's shoulder a bit. 'Though he has Lily's eyes.'

The barkeep grunted, turning back to his countertop. 'Well, grab yourselves a booth,' he said gruffly. 'You know the menu by now I take it. Your usual to drink?'

'That would be fine, thank you, Abe,' said Minerva. 'And perhaps a butterbeer for Harry.'

Albus led the way to a booth in the corner, helping Harry out of his travelling cloak. The three of them slid into their seats as Aberforth reappeared with the drinks.

'Won't you join us, Abe?' Minerva asked, as he set hers in front of her.

'Who'll tend the bar, Minnie?' he asked her, gesturing behind him at the empty pub.

'I'm sure you can manage a short respite,' Albus said, forcing a smile.

Aberforth grunted, but summoned over a stool to sit at the end of the table. With a click of his fingers, a gleaming bottle of Firewhisky and a tumbler appeared. He poured a healthy measure, drank it in one, and refilled the glass again.

'So, been learning much from this old codger, Harry?' Aberforth said to the boy, jerking his head at Albus.

'Er, yes, sir,' Harry replied, sounding a little nervous. Aberforth snorted.

'I'll bet,' he said, sipping from the glass again. 'Been wondering when he'd take you under his wing. He's talked about you a lot, you know, over the past year or so. And of course, Albus always did like to make sure he'd set his pieces in place for the Greater –'

'Yes, thank you, Aberforth,' Albus said, cutting the barkeep off. He glared at the interruption.

'Don't go getting your knickers in a twist, Albus. I didn't mean anything by it.'

'We meant to bring Harry by this past summer, Abe, but time got away from us a bit,' Minerva offered, trying to divert the awkward subject.

Aberforth looked surprised. 'What do you mean, this past summer, Minnie? Wouldn't the boy have been at home?'

'Actually,' said Albus, 'We brought Harry back to the castle around the beginning of July. Things were not ideal at his relatives'.'

Aberforth gave him a sharp look. 'That so, eh?' he said, looking pensive. 'Well, it's good to meet you now, lad,' he said to Harry. 'There aren't many students that Albus here would bring by – I reckon you must be something special.'

Harry blushed a bit. 'Do you know each other well?' he ventured, looking curiously between the men.

Aberforth gave a booming laugh, throwing his head back. When he'd recovered himself, he gave Albus a sideways look. 'You haven't told him, eh, Albus? Well, don't suppose I should be surprised. Always played your cards against your chest, didn't you?' He leaned over toward Harry again. 'I know Albus better than anyone, lad. Well, except maybe Minnie here,' he allowed, giving Minerva a wink. 'He's my brother.'

'He's _what_?' exclaimed Harry, looking shocked. Albus allowed himself a chuckle at that, and even Minerva coughed a bit on her drink.

'Aye, lad,' said Aberforth, his own eyes dancing with amusement. 'My _elder_ brother, obviously.'

Harry looked over at Albus. 'I never knew you had a brother,' he said.

'Alas,' said Albus, with a dramatic sigh. 'None knows the weight of another's burden.'

'Herbert,' Aberforth grunted. 'Get some new quotes, Albus.'

'That's enough you two,' said Minerva firmly. 'Now, how about we all have some lunch, and you can let Aberforth get to know Harry a little, Albus?'

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'How was it?' Ron asked, as Harry threw himself into a chair beside him in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room several hours later.

'Good, but kind of weird,' Harry said. 'And I'm knackered – that's a long walk, and it's still blowing like mad out there.' He shook the hem of his cloak out, bits of melting snow cascading onto the crimson hearthrug. The heat of the fire felt wonderful as it warmed him.

Ron snorted. 'What do you mean, weird?'

Harry shrugged. 'I met Dumbledore's brother.'

Ron looked gobsmacked. 'You met Dumbledore's… _what_?'

'His brother, yeah,' Harry said. 'His name's Aberforth, and he runs this inn and pub in the village. It's called the Hog's Head.'

Ron still looked stunned. 'Does he look like Dumbledore? What's he like?'

Harry thought about it for a moment. 'I don't know… he sort of looks like him, I guess. They've got those same blue eyes, and they both have long hair and beards. Aberforth's is more grey than white though. And he's alright – a bit gruff, but I think he's funny. He snipes with Dumbledore a lot, which is kind of odd to watch, but I think he likes Professor McGonagall.'

Ron snorted. 'I'll bet it was weird – seeing Dumbledore like that.'

Harry shrugged. 'It was, but it was also kind of nice. Like how families sometimes act, you know? Like you and your brothers do… I wish I had brothers or sisters.' He trailed off, a little sad.

Ron looked like he didn't quite know what to say. 'Fancy chess before supper?' he said, after a few awkward moments, gesturing to the board on the side table.

'Yeah, alright,' Harry agreed, happy for the diversion. Ron pulled the board over and began to set up the pieces.

Three spectacular losses later, Harry headed down to eat with Ron. They left a bit early so they could pop in to see Hermione before supper. Her spirits were much improved since the morning, now that her face was starting to shed some.

'Do you think the twins will walk down with us?' Harry asked, as he and Ron finished up their steak and kidney pie. 'To Snape's, I mean? You can't come with me on your own, or we'll be in even more trouble.'

Ron called over to Fred and George, who agreed to accompany them. The four boys headed out of the portrait hole together shortly before eight.

'So, what'd you do to hack off old Snape?' George asked, as they made their way down the corridor for the staircase.

Harry shrugged. 'Not sure, but there's usually something.'

Fred sniggered. 'Aw, ickle Harrykins can't behave himself, can he? Always causing too much trouble… little Gryffindor beastie.' Harry threw a mock punch at him, and Fred dodged, laughing as Harry smacked Ron accidentally.

'Oi!' Ron grumbled, rubbing his arm. 'Easy, mate – I'm not the one taking the mickey am I?' he complained.

'Sorry,' said Harry, though he was grinning. The light-hearted banter faded, however, as they drew closer to the bottom of the stairs. Harry felt the familiar sense of foreboding increase as they descended toward the dungeons.

'His office, right?' said George as they reached the bottom of the stone steps. 'Funny that – you'd think he'd meet you in the classroom if he wanted you doing detention.'

'Yeah,' Harry said, his unease increasing. 'Maybe he wants to shout at me or something.' He exchanged a miserable look with Ron.

The foursome made their way down the corridor, and Harry knocked resignedly on the potion master's door.

It flew open almost at once.

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'You three – go,' Severus said dismissively to the Weasley boys. They shot him suspicious looks, but backed away from the door.

'Should we come back for –' Ron Weasley began.

'No,' Severus interrupted him. 'I shall make sure Potter gets back… _safely_ … to Gryffindor tower. Potter – inside. Now.'

Potter gave his little friends a melancholy look, but strode past Severus into the office without a word. Severus slammed the door in the three curious faces, locking and spelling it with a silencing charm immediately. He lowered his wand but kept it in hand as he stared down at Potter, his own eyes boring into the emerald green.

'You wanted to see me professor?' said Potter in a small voice. He looked nervous. Good.

'Have a seat, Potter,' he said. The boy sank into the student chair in front of his desk, still looking wary.

Severus turned away, pacing the office. He did not look at Potter as he began to speak.

'I will have been a teacher at Hogwarts for twelve years, this March… did you know that?' he asked quietly.

'No, sir.'

'Indeed,' said Severus. 'The headmaster hired me initially to work under the previous Potions master, who had decided to retire the following term. Professor Dumbledore wished to groom me for the post, you see, though I was very young at the time – only just twenty-one.' He ran a hand along the shelves of the back wall, fingertips grazing over the many jars of samples and specimens he'd been collecting and preserving in the past decade. The child did not interrupt.

'Twenty-one,' Severus continued quietly, 'is quite unusual an age to start instructing children in the wizarding world. Unlike our Muggle counterparts, who are often young when they enter the education field, teachers in the wizarding world are held to a different standard. We do not have university, and our children come of age at seventeen years. Most professions have no further study than what you will learn here at Hogwarts, although some of the more difficult lines of work require additional specialised training. And, of course, Hogwarts is the only wizarding school in Britain. To be a professor at Hogwarts, therefore, is a highly-coveted and highly prestigious position. Professors are well respected, in wizarding society.

'Most professors, as no doubt you have noticed by now, come back to Hogwarts later in life, once they have obtained study in their field beyond the classroom: perhaps gained a formal mastery through an apprenticeship programme on the continent, or else worked for the Ministry or a private company in some capacity. When the headmaster took me onto the staff, I was the youngest Hogwarts professor since he himself took a post in the Transfiguration department. And I took the position only because he asked it of me himself.'

Severus paused in his reminiscence, choosing a jar from the shelf as he spoke. From the corner of his eye, he could see that Potter was riveted to his every word, although he still looked confused.

'I was not unstudied. Far from it. In the three years since I had left the school, I had seen and done… much. I was always a competent brewer – prodigious even – and I honed those skills further in my work between leaving Hogwarts and returning. The headmaster knew this, though that was not why he hired me.'

He strode back over to the boy, and placed the little jar he'd pulled off the shelf down in front of him. Unlike the many slimy, floating things on display in the office, this jar was filled with the most infinitesimal amount of what seemed to be water, but with a sparkling, silver quality. Potter stared down at it blankly.

'Do you know what this is?' he asked the boy. Potter shook his head. Severus snorted. He turned away again, resuming his pacing.

'I am not surprised,' he said. 'Few wizards would recognise it. And even fewer have managed to obtain and bottle a sample. They are very rare, and must be freely given.'

'What is it, professor?' said Potter, still bent over the jar.

'They are unicorn tears,' Snape said simply. 'Very rare, and incredibly valuable. Like the tears of a phoenix, unicorn tears have certain healing qualities. Unicorn tears can save a wizard from everything short of the killing curse itself. But they come with a price. A unicorn who freely offers her tears gives only the dose necessary for one life – one salvation. A _specific_ salvation, for which they are marked. And once those tears are used, the witch or wizard can never be saved in such a way again.'

'How did you get them, sir?' asked Potter, now wide-eyed.

Severus did not answer.

'Do you know _why_ I keep these tears, Potter?' he asked, looking seriously down at him. The child shook his head.

'Because I must. They cannot be sold, or given away. To dispose of unicorn tears is a heinous slight on the gift. They cannot be used on any other but the one they were meant to save. And _these_ tears can save nobody now. They are useless – a mere artefact. A symbol of a life foolishly lost. Mistakes that can never be undone. Salvation, that will never be granted.'

Potter swallowed, hard. 'You… you keep them because somebody _died_?' he asked, horrified.

'Yes,' Severus said. 'And no. I keep them as a reminder of _why_ that person died. And the price of hesitancy, foolhardiness, mistrust and cowardice.' He took the jar back from the boy, considering the pool of tears in the bottom of the glass. 'Do _you_ know the price of such sins, Potter? Are you willing to pay it – or to let your little friends do so?'

The child looked frightened. 'I… er…' he started, seeming unsure what to say. 'I mean no, of course I don't want – want my friends to pay a price if I'm, er, foolish or cowardly…. Or what–'

'Then tell me,' Severus interjected, setting the jar on his desk and leaning back against the wood with his arms crossed over his chest, 'Why is it that no matter how many warnings you are given, no matter what consequences you are threatened with, no matter what disaster seems to follow you around, you are still so arrogant and reckless that you insist upon endangering your life and the lives of your friends with your schemes?'

Potter's eyes widened further. 'I, I don't know what you –'

'Do _not_ play the fool with me, Potter!' Severus barked, eyes flashing. 'The headmaster may have bought your little charade, but I KNOW BETTER. _You_ and your little friends have been brewing Polyjuice Potion illegally for months! The missing boomslang skin, the ridiculous display with the firework, Ms Granger's very _unique_ injuries, two of my students locked in a cupboard, missing their shoes… I told you, Potter, I have been a teacher for over a decade. My _profession_ is to lord over the House of the cunning and the clever. Do you _really think_ that I, of all people, am unable to put these pieces together? You have been foolish and careless with your own neck once again, and you are incredibly lucky that nobody was permanently hurt by your flouting of the rules! Do you think you are _above_ restriction? Did you think that you alone – a twelve-year-old with mediocre talent and no sense of self-preservation – would be able to corner the _heir of Slytherin_ where the greatest wizard of the age has not yet succeeded? Tell me – did you give any thought to what might happen if you were caught? Or if the potion was brewed unsuccessfully? Or if, worse still, you'd been _attacked and killed_ in your attempt?'

He watched as the child grew paler while he railed at him. Severus broke off his rant, breathing heavily and glaring down at the boy. Potter was ghostly white for several moments, and then he grew faintly green. He looked, in fact, like he might sick up.

Severus had about three second's warning before Potter started to retch in earnest. He conjured a basin at the last moment, hurriedly shoving the child's head down into it as he emptied his stomach. The boy's skin was clammy.

He summoned a stomach-soother wordlessly from his private stores, and conjured a flannel. He shoved the cloth roughly at Potter when he finally resurfaced, letting him wipe his face, then banished both that and the basin before the odour turned his own stomach.

'Drink,' he said curtly, handing over the potion. Potter grimaced but did not dare to disobey, upending the phial and downing it quickly.

'Thanks,' he said weakly, handing the empty phial back to Severus. His colour was better, but Severus scrutinised his face with narrowed eyes.

'Are you ill, Potter?' he asked, still in the same cool tone. Potter shook his head but Severus, seeing the beads of perspiration on his brow, was unconvinced. He raised an eyebrow.

'I'm not, professor,' said Potter firmly. 'I just… my stomach's been a bit queasy all day. I had a nightmare last night and it left me a little off. And then what you said…' he looked rather squeamish again. Severus leaned closer.

'I did not say these things to make you vomit, Potter,' he said. 'But you _must_ take things more seriously. We have rules at this castle for a reason. The last time the Chamber was opened, a girl your age was killed.'

Harry nodded. 'Yes, sir,' he said quietly, not looking at Severus.

'What sort of nightmare?' Severus asked, changing the subject abruptly. 'I thought you were using Occlumency to stop them.'

'I am!' said Potter, a little miffed now.

'Tone, Potter!' Severus snapped.

'Sorry, sir,' the boy said, slightly apologetic. 'I just mean… I _am_ using Occlumency. But sometimes it doesn't work.'

Severus frowned at him. 'This nightmare, it made you ill?'

Potter shrugged. 'I guess so,' he said. 'That happens sometimes with the dreams. I don't know why it's that way with some but not the others.'

'What was this dream about?'

'I can't remember much of it,' he said, shrugging again. 'A room with green fire, or something like that. It's the same sort of green that I always see when I dream about…' but he trailed off, looking sad and out of reach.

'About what, Potter?' Severus pressed.

'About the night my parents died, sir,' Potter admitted in a small voice.

Severus felt the bottom of his stomach drop out. That night haunted his own dreams far too often. He hadn't realised Potter could even remember that – he'd been little more than a year old at the time. He wondered _what_ , exactly, Potter remembered. The moment when the curses had been cast? His father hitting the floor? Did he remember Lily – in her final moments? Did he remember what had happened after… the destroyed house? Severus – running into the nursery and holding the dead woman in his arms, ignoring the wailing infant behind him as his life was torn apart forever… fleeing from the scene as the crowd of Muggles and wizards began to surround the house, leaving the distraught child in the wreckage?

'Do you know why that is, professor?' the boy asked, pulling Severus back to the office.

'Why what is, Potter?' Severus snapped, a bit harsher than he'd intended. The child flinched.

'Why… why sometimes the Occlumency won't work, and the nightmares make me that way… but I can't remember them, sir?'

Severus stared hard at Potter. It was an odd thing, now he came to think about it. But he did not have an answer. 'I do not,' he said, carefully. 'But I can try to… help you, to remember.'

'How?' the child asked, looking eager.

Severus stood straight and pulled his wand free from his pocket again. He walked around to the opposite side of the desk, preparing himself. 'Concentrate on what you can remember of the dream,' he said, pushing back the sleeves of his robes. 'Put it to the forefront of your mind – it will make it easier. And do not try to resist.'

'What… what are you going to do, sir?' Potter asked, eying Severus's wand with fear.

Severus smirked. 'I am going to penetrate your mind,' he said. 'On the count of three then, Potter,' he added, ignoring the sudden horror that spread over the child's face. 'One… two… three. _Legilimens_!'

The boy had clearly not done what he'd asked. Not that Severus was surprised at his inability to follow direction in the slightest. Potter's mind was in chaos; flashes of thought and memory streaking past so quickly, Severus could barely get his bearings. He latched onto the first scene he could see in any detail… a bubbling cauldron, familiar in its scent and substance – Polyjuice Potion, set on a blue flame over what looked oddly like a toilet. _So he had been right_. But Severus let the memory slip away again – it was not his quarry.

A flash of green.

Severus pushed forward roughly – this memory was older, farther from reach. Blinding green light and a woman's scream… and high, cold, familiar laughter. Severus reeled back in panic – he did not want to see… did not what to know.

More green.

But these were eyes. Familiar, beautiful, almond-shaped eyes of emerald green. Lily's eyes, that in life were now set so heartbreakingly in the face of the man he'd hated, mocking Severus's failure. Lily's face was staring back at him, and James' – oddly distorted, until Severus registered that both were staring out from a great, gilded mirror. They were smiling with such tenderness and love in their expression that Severus was momentarily thrown, until he realised that Harry Potter was seated on the floor in front of him, one small hand pressed up against the glass. Severus remained for several long moments, staring entranced at Lily's image, until he was startled by the sudden emergence of Albus Dumbledore beside him, running a hand over his own form as he silently lifted a disillusionment charm. The headmaster watched the boy with nearly the same expression of tenderness as his parents wore in the mirror for a minute, before gently pulling the child's attention from the glass.

Severus left them in conversation, pulling himself back into the sea of churning thoughts. He tried to focus his search, using his own skill to force the most recent memories to the front of Potter's mind.

And there it was.

Severus was in an odd stone room, glowing with green flame torches. There was an open book upon the ground, lit up in a similar way. Severus tried to focus on the details of the room, but it was hazy about the edges; distorted in the way unfinished memories so often were. He did not recognise the place. Perhaps it only existed in Potter's imaginings. A blurry, red-haired figure was at the opposite end of the room, her back to Severus and Potter, dressed in Gryffindor nightclothes. Severus immediately thought it might be a young Lily, but how would Potter have such a memory? And anyway, this girl's hair seemed straighter, and brighter… not quite the deep shade of red that Lily's had been. Harry called out to her, and Severus realised that it was the Weasley daughter.

But the scene began to fade. At first, Severus thought it was the effects of the incomplete recollection – that Potter had reached the end of his ability to recall the dream at all, even subconsciously. But as he was pulled back into the stream of general thought, Severus saw that _all_ of Potter's thoughts were beginning to blacken, the maddening flow of images slowing.

The child was losing consciousness.

 _Shite._

He pulled out of the boy's head immediately, steadying himself for a moment on the edge of the desk as his gaze came back into focus on the real world. Then he nearly vaulted the desk in his haste to get around it, lunging for the child as Potter's body went limp and he began to fall from the chair.

Dumbledore would _kill_ him.

'Potter!' he called, shaking the boy's shoulders. He didn't move. He was sweaty again, and very pale. Severus shook him harder. He thought the child felt warm – fevered, maybe. He was still unresponsive.

 _Shite…_

Severus kept him in the chair with one arm, summoning an invigoration draught with the other. He wrenched Potter's jaw open and tipped the contents of the phial down his throat, massaging it to make him swallow. After a few agonising minutes, Potter began to stir with a groan.

Severus released him as his eyes fluttered open, and Potter pushed himself straight again in the chair.

'What –' he said in confusion, looking up at Severus through hazy eyes.

'The memory was not at the front of your mind,' said Severus stiffly, leaning back toward his desk again, now that the crisis had passed. 'I had to go farther into your subconscious than I had originally intended. We should, perhaps, have waited until you were more recovered from the incident last night. The strain was too much on your mind and you fainted. I… apologise. I should have recognised the possibility sooner.'

Potter was rubbing his forehead vaguely, still trying to get his bearings. 'Did you… did you see everything I saw, sir?' he asked, not looking up.

Severus hesitated. 'Flashes of it,' he admitted.

The boy looked angry now. 'That – some of that was private!' he whinged, still holding his head.

Severus nodded. 'I know. But perhaps next time you will pay closer attention when I am giving an instruction, and I will not have to rummage about in your chaotic head to find what we are looking for.'

Potter scowled. 'There isn't going to _be_ a next time,' he muttered to the desktop. 'And you didn't give me much of a warning to get ready!' he accused.

Severus glared. 'I am only overlooking your cheek, Potter,' he said in a forcibly restrained voice, 'because I appreciate that you are not feeling your best at the moment. But you would do well to remember to whom you are speaking when you open your mouth.'

Potter ground his teeth, but said nothing.

'Did you recall anything further about the dream?' Severus asked. 'I did not recognise the location… it may have been nothing but imaginings.'

'The book was new,' said the boy. 'But other than that, it was pretty much everything I could remember before.'

Severus nodded, going over to his potions cabinet. He began to sift through the shelves in search of the right phial.

'Perhaps it will come back to you in time,' he said. 'Or, perhaps, it is of little importance anyway.' He selected the correct potion, and shut the store cupboard again. 'Come. I shall take you back up to the tower.'

Potter gained his feet a little unsteadily.

'Can you walk?' Severus asked, seeing the way the child stumbled toward the door.

'Yeah, I just…' Potter kneaded his knuckles against his forehead again. 'I have a wicked headache.'

'A side effect of the process,' Severus said. 'It will fade with time, and sleep. Which you will be doing as soon as you return to the Tower.' He pressed the phial he'd retrieved into the boy's hand.

'Dreamless Sleep potion,' he explained with a roll of his eyes, as the child stared down at it blankly. 'You've had it before, you ought to recognise the colour by now. You will go straight up to bed when I release you at the Gryffindor entrance, and take the entire phial once you are lying down. I trust you remember that it is a fast-acting brew. It will prevent you from dreaming, tonight.'

Potter looked up, giving him an odd look. 'Right. Er – thanks, sir,' he said, pocketing the phial of potion.

Severus grunted and opened the door, motioning the child ahead of him. But Potter hesitated.

'But, sir… what about my punishment? You never said.'

Severus stared hard at the boy. 'This time, Potter,' he said, 'I am going to let you off with my warning. Do _not_ expect me to be so lenient the next time. If I catch you – or any of your sidekicks – out of bounds again, the consequences will be more severe than you can possibly imagine.'

In truth, though Severus dearly wanted to throw all three Gryffindor brats into detention until they came of age, he knew perfectly well he could not. The information was spotty, and partly unethical to use against them. And he had no conclusive _proof_ … except, of course, the evidence he'd obtained legilimising Potter. Which Dumbledore would never accept, and probably skin him alive for daring to unearth in the first place – even if that had not been the _intended_ goal of the exercise.

As he ushered Potter out of the office ahead of him, Severus's eyes fell again on the little jar of unicorn tears he'd shown the boy that night. He suppressed a small shudder. What he hadn't told the child, was that there was a second jar. A sample he'd obtained later… in the first days of his teaching position. A jar marked for Harry Potter.

And Severus' goal, in this lecture tonight, was to ensure that he would never have need to use it.

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Harry and Ron spent the last week of the holidays in happy distraction – playing in the grounds with Fred and George and wiling away hours in the common room with chess or gobstones. Harry luxuriated in the free time, even the few hours each day they spent visiting with Hermione in the hospital wing, where more often than not she made them work on their holiday assignments with her. Hermione was, slowly, getting back to normal, though her eyes were still yellow with slits for pupils. Harry was growing used to them by now. Madam Pomfrey had told Hermione she ought to be able to get back to lessons by the third week of January, but she was determined not to fall behind in the meantime.

'Do make sure to give those essays to Professor Flitwick and Professor Snape, won't you?' she reminded them anxiously, as Harry and Ron packed up their things to head back to the tower on the last evening of the Christmas holidays.

Ron rolled his eyes. 'We've told you we would, Hermione,' he said wearily. 'About a hundred times now.'

Hermione huffed, but seemed placated. 'You will make notes for me, won't you?' she persisted.

'Of course we will,' Harry assured her soothingly. 'We'll come down every night to give them to you – don't worry.'

'Oh… alright,' she relented, smiling at him. 'You'd better be off then – it's nearly curfew.'

Harry glanced down at his watch. She was quite right – they had less than half an hour before they were due to be back in Gryffindor Tower. He and Ron bid Hermione a good night, and set off for the staircase.

They were just walking past the first floor landing when Harry noticed something odd. The steps here were covered in a thin layer of water. He nudged Ron, pointing down. Ron furrowed his brow.

'You think Myrtle's flooded the place again?' he asked Harry, nodding toward her lavatory. Harry squinted down the passage. It did indeed look as though the water had completely covered the long marble floor. He glanced up and down the staircase – there didn't appear to be anyone else in sight.

'Come on,' whispered Harry, pulling Ron toward the flood. 'Let's have a quick look around.'

He and Ron made their way down the corridor, picking carefully through the puddles to avoid slipping. Harry inched the door open when they'd arrived at the loo. Every tap in the place had been turned, the faucets unleashing torrents that overflowed their basins and cascaded onto the stone floor. Gurgling noises told Harry the toilets must be similarly running. Above the din from the water, they could hear Moaning Myrtle's characteristic wailing.

'Myrtle?' Harry ventured, trying to make himself heard above the noise. The wailing stopped suddenly and Myrtle floated out of a cubicle, hiccupping slightly, her pearly eyes misted behind her spectacles.

'Oh, it's you,' she said, giving them a mournful once-over.

'Yes,' Harry agreed. 'Er, is everything alright?'

Myrtle sniffed dramatically. 'Oh, I don't know,' she said. 'Would _you_ be alright if someone had barged into _your_ room and thrown a book at you?'

'Well,' piped up Ron, apparently attempting rational argument. 'I mean, it can't hurt you if it hits you, can it? I mean… it'd just go right through you, no?'

Myrtle swooped down toward them so quickly, Harry jumped back in fright.

'Oh, of course!' she snapped, her voice losing its depressed whinge in her anger. 'You're just like the rest of them, aren't you? Let's all have a bit of fun with Myrtle – because she's dead and _can't feel it_!'

'No, no that's not what he meant, Myrtle,' said Harry quickly, while Ron stood frozen, rather gormless. 'Who was it, anyway?'

Myrtle shrugged. 'I didn't see them,' she said. 'But I washed the book back up again. It's somewhere over there.' She motioned vaguely with her hand toward the far side of the bathroom, where Harry could see a small black book was lying innocently in one of the larger puddles. He moved toward it, reaching a hand down to pick it up.

But to his surprise, Ron splashed up behind him in panic, grasping his wrist before he could take the book.

'What's the matter?' asked Harry, raising his eyebrows.

'Don't touch it mate,' said Ron, shaking his head. 'It might be dangerous.'

Harry laughed. ' _Dangerous_?' he repeated incredulously. 'Ron – it's just a book!'

But Ron still looked uncertain. 'Listen,' he said. 'Dad sees all sorts of mad stuff at work. Wizards can enchant books, you know, so they'll do things to the next reader. Sometimes you can't _stop_ reading them, or they burn your eyes out, or they mess with your brain… it's not a good idea, Harry, trust me.'

Harry shook him off. 'We'll never know if we don't check, will we?' he said reasonably. 'And besides, some other student obviously had this book before, because they chucked it in here, didn't they? And I haven't seen anyone with burnt eyes running around Hogwarts lately.'

Before Ron could protest further, Harry had retrieved the little book. It was small and leather-bound, with pages that were slightly yellowed at the ends from age. Harry flicked through it, as Ron held his breath. It appeared to be a diary, but without any entries.

'This is a Muggle book,' Harry said softly, pointing to the inside cover. 'That's a print shop in London. 1943… it's fifty years old.'

'But there's no writing in it,' Ron pointed out. 'Why would someone want to chuck an old, blank diary?'

Harry shrugged, flipping to the front cover. T. M. Riddle was embossed in fading gold letters in the lower right hand corner. Harry ran his fingers lightly over the name. It was familiar to him, somehow. He felt an eerie pull toward the book, almost as though Riddle was someone he _ought_ to remember, but could not.

'T. M. Riddle…' Ron read out, watching Harry. He suddenly gripped his arm again. 'Hey, Harry – I _know_ that name!'

'You do?' said Harry in surprise, turning to Ron. 'How?'

'He won an award – Special Services to the School. The shield's in the trophy room.'

'How on earth do you remember that?' Harry queried, eying him sceptically. Ron could barely remember what they'd had for breakfast most days. Ron grimaced.

'I had to scrub it about twenty times in my detention with Filch. I sicked up slugs all over it – you remember that curse I was trying to put on Malfoy? If you'd been working out grime from someone's name for an hour, you'd remember it too.'

Harry nodded, still running his fingers over the name, thinking hard.

Why would someone throw a fifty-year-old empty diary down the toilet? And who _was_ T. M. Riddle?

Ron shook him from his musings, as he began tugging at his arm.

'Come on, Harry,' he said, yanking him toward the door. 'We'll miss curfew if we don't get on.'

Harry allowed Ron to pull him from the lavatory. But as they left, he pocketed the diary.


	22. 13 June 1943

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 22: 13 June, 1943**

Hermione was released from hospital wing near the end of the month, fur-free and very happy to be back to lessons. Harry and Ron christened her first night back in the tower by showing her Riddle's diary. They hadn't had any luck themselves in trying to discover what was so special about the book, but they thought Hermione might have some new ideas.

Like Harry, Hermione was very intrigued to learn that Tom Riddle had received a Special Award, particularly because it coincided with when they knew the Chamber of Secrets had last been opened. Ron, who remained sceptical and thought Harry ought to chuck the book, was a little less certain. And Harry had to admit that he had a point, after Hermione had tried a series of revealing spells, and even a magic revealing rubber, with no luck. But, for whatever reason, Harry found he could not bin the diary. Instead, he slipped it into his school bag and got in the habit of flipping through it periodically – between lessons or late at night in bed.

Several weeks later, Harry ran up to the dormitory at the end of the day in a very foul disposition, cursing Lockhart and his ridiculous Valentine's scheme. He was already in a temper against the Defence professor who, quite apart from teaching them absolutely _no_ practical Defence, had also developed a nasty habit of forcing Harry to help him with 'demonstrations' of particularly dramatic scenes from his books. Both Ron and Harry railed against the wizard at every opportunity, though Hermione simply refused to accept their criticism of Lockhart. She and Ron had got into a serious row on the subject on St. Valentine's Day morning, when Lockhart – in what Harry considered his most despicable act yet – had announced his scheme to 'boast morale' with a Valentine's-themed school 'treat.'

Thanks to Harry's personal singing 'cupid,' he was now the laughing stock of the school, Ginny Weasley was highly embarrassed, and Malfoy thought Harry kept a personal diary and would no doubt be on the lookout for any opportunity to snatch it from him. And to top it, Harry now had to try and salvage his books and the hastily-repaired bag.

He threw his satchel roughly onto the floor, picking out his things one by one. Everything was drenched in scarlet ink.

' _Tergeo!_ ' he muttered, pointing his wand over and over as he removed each item, trying to siphon off the mess. But when he came to the little black diary, he paused, considering it.

The ink which had covered every inch of his school things was completely absent from the old diary. The cover and pages were as pristine as they had been that morning.

Curious, Harry sat back against the headboard with the little book in hand. He flipped through the pages. Not a single scarlet drop.

Harry bent over and pulled out an inkwell and quill. He dipped the tip of the quill into the pot, and let a drop fall onto the first page of the book. It shone for a moment, then faded into the page – leaving the parchment blank once more. Harry flipped to the next page. There was no trace whatsoever of ink there, either.

Growing excited, Harry refilled his quill and scratched out a sentence.

 _My name is Harry Potter._

Like before, the ink shone for a moment, and then something drew it away, fading into the page. Harry waited in high anticipation, but nothing seemed to happen. His momentary excitement diminished, and he made to close the diary again.

But he stopped.

Very slowly, in the same blue ink he'd written in, words came back from the diary.

 _Hello, Harry Potter. I am Tom Riddle_.

Harry stared for a moment, stunned. Then he hurriedly scribbled back.

 _Who are you?_

The words faded into the page again, and the reply came quicker this time.

 _I was a student at Hogwarts – many years before your time. This diary contains my memories of my fifth year at the school, when many strange and terrible events occurred._

Harry wrote back immediately, blotting the page a bit in his hurry.

 _Terrible things are happening now, too… do you know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?_

The reply was nearly as quick, the handwriting growing more untidy.

 _Yes. In fact, it was I who discovered the perpetrator, shortly before the end of the summer term. He was expelled from Hogwarts._

Harry felt his heart begin to race.

 _Who was it?_

He wrote.

 _Would you like me to show you?_

Harry hesitated. A soft voice in his head – the one that often sounded like Hermione – warned him against this. He had a vague sense of danger from the little book… but then again, how could the diary harm him?

 _Ok_.

The pages began to flutter. Harry dropped his quill in surprise, leaving a smear of ink on his bedcovers. The book fell quiet and open to a page marked 13 June. Harry waited for the inked writing to appear, but it did not. Instead, a strange window seemed to be opening in the centre of the page. It was so small, he had to lean down toward it to see…

And he fell _into_ it, rushing through the air in a whirl of sound and colour.

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Harry landed squarely on his feet in a dimly lit but familiar office. He recognised it at once as Dumbledore's study – though this place was not quite the same. The layout of the space was similar, but there were fewer whirring instruments on the shelves and tables; the sitting area upholstery was decidedly old-fashioned; and, where Fawkes' perch stood in the study Harry could remember, there now was a monstrous cat palace – topped with a fat white cat asleep on the plush bedding. Most interestingly, an old man sat at the desk, reading over a short letter with a frown on his face. This man was certainly _not_ Albus Dumbledore, although Harry thought there was something vaguely familiar in the set of his jaw. He cleared his throat to announce his presence.

'Sir?' he asked, tentatively. The man did not acknowledge him. Harry tried again, a little louder. Still, the man's gaze did not move from the letter. Harry thought perhaps he was hard of hearing, and made toward the desk, but at that moment there was a knock on the office door.

'Enter,' the man called out in a squeaky voice, setting the letter aside. Harry too turned toward the door.

A young man of sixteen or seventeen years came into the study, looking nervous. He was a handsome boy, with high cheekbones and fair skin set off by dark eyes and hair that was nearly black. He was tall, and wore robes with the Slytherin green and silver at the collar and wrists. Harry saw a prefect's badge glinting on his chest. The boy nodded to the professor, but did not acknowledge Harry.

'You wanted to see me, Professor Dippet?' the boy asked politely. Harry gave a start. He realised now why this man seemed so familiar – he had seen his portrait in this room; in Dumbledore's study. But Professor Dippet had been dead for many years – as long as Dumbledore had been headmaster at Hogwarts. How was it that he had come to be in his office now? Had the diary somehow sent Harry back in time?

'Yes, Tom, do come in. Sit down,' said the old man gently, waving Tom toward the seat right next to where Harry was positioned.

And Harry understood. _This_ was Tom Riddle – Tom Riddle as he'd been at sixteen, fifty years ago. Harry hadn't gone back in time at all. It was like the Pensieve he'd stumbled upon last summer… he was watching Tom Riddle's memory.

Harry listened raptly to the conversation between the headmaster and pupil. To Tom's concerns that the school would be closed, and he would be sent back to a Muggle orphanage where he'd grown up. Like Harry, he was parentless.

And, like Harry, Tom had given a most untruthful answer when Professor Dippet asked him if he knew anything about the attacks. Harry could see the turmoil in his eyes when he said it.

Tom Riddle bid the headmaster a good evening, and set off out of the office. Harry followed, jogging slightly to keep up with the older boy's stride. Tom's brow was furrowed, his hand running through his hair as he appeared to be deep in thought.

'Tom, what are you doing on your own in the corridors?' a sharp voice interrupted.

Harry turned, startled by the familiar speaker. Albus Dumbledore strode toward them, his hair as long as Harry remembered but a bright auburn, just beginning to streak with grey at the temples. His robes were slightly less grandiose than Harry was used to, and Harry thought he looked unusually serious. He was eying Tom with mild distrust.

'I had a meeting with the headmaster, sir,' Tom answered politely, his expression clearing immediately as he turned to address Dumbledore. 'I was just off to the dormitory.'

'Well, best to hurry it up,' said Dumbledore, still gazing at Tom with those piercing blue eyes Harry knew so well. 'It would not do to linger in the empty corridors these days, not since that poor child's tragic death.'

'Yes, sir,' said Tom, bowing his head a fraction. He made past the professor for the staircase, Harry in his wake. Harry glanced back at Dumbledore as he followed the older boy down the steps, and saw the professor was watching Tom leave with a frown on his face.

They descended all the way to the dungeons. Harry thought at first that Tom was headed for the Slytherin dormitories, but he walked past the turn. Instead, he ducked into an empty classroom and shut the door, returning to that expression of deep thought.

A great deal of time passed. Hours, perhaps, Harry thought. He was getting very bored, and starting to wish he hadn't told Tom he wanted to see after all. Perhaps this was just a very elaborate prank.

Suddenly, Tom Riddle seemed to make a decision. He stopped his pacing of the room, and pushed the door carefully open, slipping out into the darkened corridor. He strode right to the end of the row of doors, to a dungeon room that Harry recognised well – it was where he had Potions in the present with Snape.

Outside the wooden door, Tom stopped. He drew his wand and leaned up against the wall of the passage, listening hard.

Harry heard it too.

Inside the classroom, something was scuffling about, odd clicking and tapping noises emanating from the room.

'Come on, yeh gotta get in the box now,' said a gruff voice. Harry thought this speaker too sounded familiar. 'Go on, it won' hurt yeh,' the voice said. The clicking sounds increased.

With a bang, Tom spelled the door ajar, wood bouncing off the wall. He stepped gracefully into the room, wand drawn out in front of him, and Harry followed.

'It's over, Rubeus,' Tom said firmly. Harry saw that he was pointing his wand at a massive teenage boy – well over seven feet tall already, with a mane of untidy hair and a look of pure terror on his face.

'Tom! What – what are yeh doin' down here?' the boy said, glancing around in panic.

'I'm sure you didn't mean it,' Tom said, stepping foot across foot into the room, his eyes darting about as well. 'But monsters don't make good pets, Rubeus. This one has killed a girl already – the school will have to ensure he's put down.'

The huge boy gasped. 'No – yeh've got it wrong, Tom,' he said, putting his hands out in a placating gesture. 'He'd never hurt no one, he's just –'

But there was a sudden shuffling sound in a dark corner of the room and Tom Riddle whirled at once, firing a blast of red light toward the unknown creature. Hagrid gave a roar of panic and anger, leaping for Tom's wand arm and sending them both flying backward in a tangle of flailing limbs. Harry let out a scream that nobody could hear as a huge, many-legged creature scuttled past him, out the open door and into the corridor.

In seconds, the vision around him dissolved in a whirl of colour.

The next thing Harry knew, he was thrown backward hard onto his bed, the little diary quite blank once again. He rubbed at his head where it had collided with the wood of the headboard, just as the door to the dormitory burst open, and Ron and Hermione hurried inside.

'We've been looking everywhere for you mate,' Ron said, slightly out of breath. 'Where'd you get to?'

'Are you alright, Harry?' Hermione asked solicitously, peering into his face. 'You don't look very well.'

Harry knew his shock and horror must be reflected in his expression. He looked between the two of them, searching for the words to explain. 'I – I've just seen… I don't know what happened, exactly, but –'

'What is it, Harry?' Hermione asked anxiously, climbing up onto the bed and taking his hand.

'It was Hagrid,' he said dully. He still couldn't really grasp it himself. 'Hagrid was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets last time.'

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'I'm just saying, headmaster, that I think we can probably do away with all this extra security… don't you think?' said Gilderoy Lockhart with a jaunty grin, glancing around at the gathered members of staff. 'I mean, it's been months now since the last attack… I think that Chamber is closed for good. No doubt the Heir has heard I was gaining on him, and decided it would be much better to go to ground. Sensible, really, to quit now, before I brought down the axe.'

'Renowned as your prodigious skills undoubtedly are,' Severus responded sarcastically, before Albus had a chance to reply, 'I think it would be poor surveillance to drop our guard at this point.'

'I tend to agree with Severus,' Albus put in. 'It may well be due to the increased security that the culprit behind these attacks seems to have paused, for the moment. But we are no closer to discovering where the Chamber of Secrets is located, nor who is behind the petrifications. And so, for now, I would like all of you to continue to use caution, and keep to the protocols. We will watch – and we will wait.'

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Harry, Ron and Hermione had decided not to say anything to Hagrid just yet, since there had not been any additional attacks since before the holidays and none of them fancied bringing the subject up with their friend. They couldn't believe that Hagrid could be the culprit this year, in any case, and, as Harry pointed out, Dumbledore had been at the school in 1943… he was bound to have known about Hagrid too. And Dumbledore hadn't sacked him.

Harry still wanted answers on Tom Riddle… something about the memory had struck him as odd. He quite understood Tom's desire not to return to the Muggle orphanage. In fact, as much as he loved him, Harry was pretty sure he himself would have turned Hagrid in, if it meant that he would not have to leave Hogwarts and return to Privet Drive for good. But it still seemed strange that Tom Riddle had so clearly known where Hagrid was – and where the monster was – yet apparently done nothing about it until that night, when everything had come to a head. He, Harry, might not have turned Hagrid in immediately if there was a way to help him, but nor would he have let a monster capable of petrifying and killing its victims run loose through the school, if it was in his power to do something about it. What he really wanted to do was _speak_ to Tom Riddle directly, and ask him these questions himself. But he was nervous to use the diary like that again. He wondered what had become of Riddle, after he'd left the school. Was he still in Britain? Could Harry write him?

Harry's musings on the diary and his distracted preoccupation over the information he'd gleaned was starting to affect his schoolwork by late March. Though he did well enough in Charms and Transfiguration, where they were concentrating on spells and he was active all the time, he had much more trouble in History of Magic… and in Potions.

'Potter!' Snape spat at him in Potions on Thursday, drawing him from his contemplation with a jolt.

Harry snapped his focus back to the task at hand, noticing with a sinking feeling that he'd been idly stirring his cauldron for fifteen minutes, rather than the required seven. His boil-cure potion, which was supposed to be a brilliant shade of violet, had turned navy blue.

'Absolutely pathetic,' sneered Snape, snatching the ladle and scooping up a sample. He let the brew drip back into the cauldron, so that the entire class could see Harry's mistake.

'I am surprised – you were showing more promise than I expected these past few weeks. But of course, the quidditch season approaches once more. I'm sure our celebrity seeker has more important things on his mind, of late.' Snape taunted. Many of the Slytherin students laughed. Harry coloured.

'Sorry, sir,' he said, his voice a fraction shy of respect. 'I'll redo the potion.'

'You will not!' Snape snapped. 'We are nearly out of time. You will come for detention at eight o'clock this evening instead. Weasley, Granger, see that he arrives.'

Harry groaned. Between quidditch practice and the detention, that would give him maybe thirty minutes for dinner.

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'Inside, Potter,' Severus said, ushering the boy into the room and away from his sidekicks when he arrived at eight o'clock. The boy shuffled in, looking miserable.

'What should I do, sir?' he asked.

'Get out your pestle and silver knife,' Snape said, carrying over a small box and placing it on the desk he'd set out for Potter. 'I want you to slice and grind these caterpillars. _Very fine_ , mind you. Any course pieces, and you are likely to cause permanent damage to the next student who finds themselves in need of a calming draught.'

Potter looked slightly revolted, but set up his work station according to direction. For forty-five minutes or so, he worked in silence while Severus started in on the tedious task of marking his O.W.L. class's essays.

'Sir?' said Potter tentatively after a while. Severus glanced up, raising an eyebrow in invitation for the impending question.

'I was wondering, sir…' Potter continued, looking nervous. 'Who is Tom Riddle?'

Severus's blood ran cold. For a moment, he lost focus on the room in front of him, his mouth dropping open as he gaped at the child.

'Sir, are you alright?' Potter asked in a nervous voice.

Severus shook himself, looking very seriously across the desk at the boy. He placed aside the papers he'd been marking, rising from his seat and leaning down, hands splayed open on the desk. His knuckles quickly whitened from the tension.

'Where,' he said softly, 'did you hear that name?'

Potter looked more than frightened now. He swallowed audibly. 'Er – it was on an old award in the trophy room, professor,' he said quietly. 'It said he was in Slytherin – I thought maybe you would know.'

Severus breathed out a sigh, relaxing his grip on the desk. He sat back in his chair again.

'Tom Riddle was a student here, many years ago,' he said, still looking hard at the child. 'Well before my own time at the school. But a student of Slytherin house, yes.'

'Yes,' said Potter, who had the air of one steeling himself to say something. 'But where is he now, sir?'

Severus's glare intensified. 'Why do you care, Potter?' he asked suspiciously.

Potter shrugged. 'No reason, particularly,' he said. 'I just got to wondering, that's all.'

Severus crossed his arms and considered. He did not really want to have this conversation with the brat, especially without first talking to Dumbledore.

'Tom Riddle left the school after his seventh year, and travelled extensively,' he said, very carefully. 'I believe he is currently somewhere on the continent, although I do not know precisely where.'

'Oh,' said the boy, looking disappointed.

'Why did you wish to know?' Severus asked again. 'In my experience, you very rarely ask questions without some motive behind them… and I hardly think you'd be interested enough in school history to come bothering me for such information on a whim. So – out with it, Potter!' he snapped.

Potter dropped his gaze to the caterpillars again. 'It was just a question,' he mumbled. 'I'm sorry I asked, sir.'

Severus growled, sweeping up to the boy's work table. He stared down at the half-finished caterpillars. 'That will do for tonight, Potter,' he said sweeping the mashed insects into a little stone bowl with a wave of his wand. 'You may clean up.'

'Yes, sir,' said the child quickly, hurrying to the basin to wash his knife and pestle. Severus watched him wash up, gnashing his teeth as he struggled with how to phrase his order.

'And Potter,' he finally barked at the child, as Potter began to pack up. He looked up at Severus curiously. 'Do not concern yourself with Tom Riddle any further. Some things are better left alone.' He waited for the child to nod; which he did, though he still looked puzzled.

'Come,' Severus said, ushering him toward the door. 'I'll walk you up to the Tower.'

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It was only half nine when Harry re-entered Gryffindor common room, so he was unsurprised to see most of his classmates in conversation around tables and groups of chairs by the fire. He _was_ surprised, however, when Neville Longbottom and Ron quickly broke off their discussion upon seeing him climb through, hurrying toward him with looks of unease on their faces.

'What's up?' Harry asked, glancing between them.

'Harry…' Neville began, sounding frightened. 'I don't know who did it, but you'd better come upstairs, quickly.'

Bewildered, Harry followed Ron and Neville up to the top of the tower. When Ron pushed open the door, he was startled. All his things had been ripped apart – the wardrobe, trunk, and even bedcovers upturned. There were sheets of parchment covering every surface, books scattered about the floor, and clothing thrown haphazardly into heaps.

'What happened?' Harry breathed in shock, starting to straighten the bed.

'We don't know,' Ron said quietly. 'It was like this when we came up from dinner. We didn't want to move anything until you'd seen.'

Neville looked hopelessly around at the mess. 'Do you want some help cleaning up, Harry?' he asked.

Harry was about to accept the offer when from the corner of his eye he saw Ron give a tiny shake of his head.

'Ye- er, no, Neville, that's alright,' he said, changing tack midsentence. Neville looked slightly disappointed.

'Hey, Neville, would you mind finding Hermione?' Harry asked, trying to let the boy feel useful in some part. 'I think I need to get notes from her for the Astronomy essay… and I don't know how long this will take.'

Neville brightened at once. 'Sure, Harry – no problem!'

'I think she's talking with Percy about course selection,' Ron called after him helpfully, as Neville hurried to the door. Neville nodded, slipping out. Ron quickly went over and shut the door again behind him.

'Sorry, mate,' he said, once he and Harry were clearly alone. 'But I didn't know if you'd want him to hear… I think someone's been looking for something. Check if there's anything missing.'

Harry tried to keep a running inventory as he filtered through the clutter, replacing his things in the wardrobe and trunk as he went. Just as he'd finished stacking his school books, he realised what was gone. He looked up at Ron, his face grave.

'Riddle's diary has gone,' he said darkly.

Ron gave a low whistle. 'That's interesting,' he said. 'But Harry, that means –'

'Harry? Ron?' came Hermione's voice, interrupting Ron as she burst into the room. She glanced around in confusion.

'Neville's sent me up,' she said, still looking puzzled. 'He said you were cleaning up some sort of mess in here, but that you needed notes for Sinistra's essay, Harry. Only, I know you finished that with me last night so I didn't understand wha –'

'Someone's stolen Riddle's diary,' Harry told her, cutting off her rambling. 'They ransacked the room; looking for it, I suppose. It's the only thing missing.'

Hermione looked gobsmacked. After a moment, she gasped. 'But Harry,' she said, now looking fearful. 'Only a Gryffindor could have stolen it – they'd have needed the Gryffindor password!'

'That's what I was going to say,' muttered Ron, miffed.

'I know,' said Harry seriously. 'Which means… whoever opened the Chamber is probably a Gryffindor too.'

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Severus, meanwhile, had gone straight from the Fat Lady's portrait to Albus.

'I had Potter in detention tonight,' Severus began, once Albus had opened his study door. He declined a seat for now, too unnerved and agitated for friendly banter.

Albus raised an eyebrow. 'Again, Severus?' he asked in a quelling tone. 'Don't you think it's a bit excessive, how often you have him labouring in detention with you?'

'Not in the slightest, Albus,' Severus snapped back irritably. 'The brat came unprepared and unfocused to his last lesson, and ruined what might have been a halfway decent brew with his distraction. He earned the punishment, as he has done every time I have deemed it appropriate.'

Albus sighed. 'He does much more detention with you than any other teacher in the castle,' he observed in a light tone.

'Perhaps it is because _I_ am not so blinded by his name as to think him above reproach,' Severus pointed out with a sneer.

Albus gave him a piercing look, making Severus feel as though his soul was being weighed against the feather. 'Perhaps…' the headmaster said quietly. 'Or perhaps, Severus, it is you who are too blinded by his _name_ to see the child who bears it.'

Severus scoffed to hide his discomfort, beginning to pace the room.

'Save your lectures, headmaster,' he said dismissively. 'I did not pay a visit to discuss my motives for giving the brat a detention, but rather to inform you about the discussion we had.'

'Oh?' said Albus, looking interested. He leaned forward in his chair. 'And what discussion was that, Severus?'

Severus stopped his pacing and glared meaningfully at the headmaster, his eyes boring into Albus's with quite the same intensity he had just received.

'He asked me, headmaster, what I could tell him of Tom Riddle.'

As he had expected, the headmaster's expression of serene interest faltered immediately. He was suddenly arrested, his face paling considerably. For a moment, Severus feared the man might actually faint… but then the old mage sighed deeply, closing his eyes as his face regained some of its colour.

'That is… unexpected,' he said finally. 'Did he tell you how he came to know that name?'

Severus crossed his arms, scowling. 'He claims to have stumbled upon it in the trophy room, on some award for Special Services to the School. Though I am not sure I believe the story. He said he was just curious after seeing the name and Riddle's house affiliation… but Potter rarely shows idle curiosity.'

'No,' Albus agreed, the tips of his fingers together in a characteristic position. 'He does not. I'd wager he was more interested in the year on that particular award, rather than the name itself.'

Severus frowned. 'What of it?' he asked.

'That award was given to Tom Riddle in 1943,' Albus explained. 'For catching the Heir of Slytherin, although the award is not specific as to its purpose. It is not a hard leap to make, however, if Harry somehow has learned that the Chamber was opened fifty years ago, and the culprit apprehended in that instance. And I do find that, somehow, Harry does seem to learn things which ought to have been unknowable.'

Severus was drawn up short. He knew, of course, who Tom Riddle was. And he knew that Hagrid had been wrongly accused of that crime fifty years ago. But he had not known that Tom Riddle had been given an award for his efforts in revealing Hagrid as the guilty party. He fixed Albus with a deeply suspicious glare.

'I wonder, headmaster,' he said, 'how is it that the award still stands in the trophy case? I would have thought you'd rid him of that prize the moment you became head of the school. If you had done so, Potter would never have been able to stumble upon it… or wasn't that the point?'

Albus's eyes went hard as he fixed them on Severus. 'It certainly was not, Severus,' he said, his voice unusually cold. Severus could feel that heady sense of powerful anger emanating that he'd come to fear in Dumbledore, though it was rarely directed at him.

'I left the award because I cannot remove it, as long as the accusations against Hagrid stand,' he continued. 'I have no right to do so. Tom Riddle's allegations were affirmed by the then headmaster, who awarded the shield. And the attacks ceased, at the time. There was no way to disprove the story. Until there is, I cannot undo the actions of my predecessor. And it is most certainly _not_ my fault – nor was it my intention – that Harry has discovered the shield's existence or, perhaps, guessed its origin. Students have every right to freely explore the Trophy Room, as you know. In fact, that is its intended purpose.'

Severus inclined his head, repentant. 'I apologise, Albus,' he said, deliberately softening his tone. 'I should not have implied that you would deliberately set Potter on this quest for information… I was merely unnerved by his questions.'

'It is forgotten already, Severus,' said the headmaster easily, returning to his usual kindly demeanour. 'What did you tell Harry, when he asked?'

Severus hesitated. He wasn't sure what the _right_ answer would have been, to Albus's thinking. 'I told him merely that he had been a student here years ago, but had left the country and travelled after leaving Hogwarts. I told him that I did not know where Tom Riddle currently was.'

Albus nodded, seeming satisfied. 'The truth then, in essence. Or a portion of it.'

Severus inclined his head once more.

'Did you tell him who Tom Riddle has become?' Albus asked, looking him in the eyes again.

Severus shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'I did not connect those dots, nor any others. I did not want to give the boy additional reason to go poking about, and… I rather felt I was the wrong person to give such information.'

Albus nodded to himself again. 'That was probably for the best, for now,' he agreed.

Severus frowned. 'I do not disagree, headmaster,' he said carefully, 'but I cannot help but feel that Potter is unlikely to let this go so easily. You should be prepared for the possibility.'

'I know,' said Albus quietly. 'And I shall speak with him about it, Severus. When the time is right.'

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As Severus left the office, Albus conjured his phoenix patronus. He thought his message carefully to the shining bird, and sent it streaking through the window and into the night. He threw a handful of floo powder into his hearth as the patronus disappeared, swallowed by the black of the sky. He bent to put his head into the flames, stating his destination.

'Minerva,' he called out softly as his head appeared in her embers, trying not to startle the Transfiguration professor. Minerva was bent over her desk in the corner, reading a long sheaf of parchment. She jumped anyway.

'Goodness, Albus,' she said in chastisement, clutching her chest. 'You gave me a fright.'

'I do apologise,' he said, solicitously. 'But I find I need to step out of the castle for a time. Can you keep an eye out?'

'Both eyes,' she promised with a wink. He chuckled, in spite of his worry.

'Very well,' he said. 'I shall be back before midnight.'

He pulled himself back into the study, brushing stray ash from his beard. The conversation with Severus had given him much to think on.

Albus retrieved his travelling cloak and set off into the night, casting a disillusionment charm to hide himself from view as he made his way into the village. The high street was busy even at this late hour – many pub-goers bustling in and out of the Three Broomsticks and Albus's destination, the Hog's Head. Eschewing the front door, he slipped in the back entrance and removed the charm, patting the little white goat in residence and waiting for Aberforth to come through.

'Got your message,' his brother said gruffly, shuffling into the back room and shutting the door. Albus could hear that the pub beyond was quite crowded. 'You need to use the upstairs hearth?'

'If it isn't too much trouble,' Albus said, inclining his head. 'I would rather not make the connection from Hogwarts, you understand.'

Aberforth grunted in agreement. 'Can't be too careful,' he said. 'He knows you'll be calling?'

'Oh yes,' said Albus lightly. 'The date was prearranged a week ago, but I was somewhat delayed in setting out. I do hope he has not made other plans for the evening.'

'Well, go on up then,' Aberforth said with a shrug. 'I'll keep an eye on the stairs. You'd best cast a charm on the door though, just in case. Crowd doesn't have anyone I'm too worried about tonight, but you never know when some wanker might get pissed and mosey his way up in search of a good place to kip.'

Albus frowned. 'I do wish you would speak less colloquially, Aberforth. It is very uncouth.'

Aberforth chuckled. 'Won't do you no good to lecture me now, Albus. Better get on, if you want to catch him tonight.'

Still frowning slightly, Albus reapplied his charm and slipped out into the pub, picking his way among the revellers for the staircase. He climbed up to the top and made his way down the narrow corridor, headed for the last door and Aberforth's personal quarters.

The little sitting area bore the signs of long bachelorhood and no particular regard for taste. In contrast to Albus's own study, there was no desk, and the room held only one small bookshelf, nearly devoid of volumes. The furniture was old and well-worn, but the sofa was a comfortable leather and the wing-backed chairs within easy range for fireplace discussions. Albus glanced up longingly at the sole portrait in the room: a beautiful gilded frame at odds with the rest of the décor. It was an oil painting of a young blond girl with innocent ice-blue eyes and a sweet, slightly vacant smile. She cocked her head expectantly at Albus as his gaze fell upon her.

'Ah, Ariana,' Albus said softly. 'I am afraid I am not here for a chat tonight, unfortunately. But soon again, I promise you.'

The girl did not look affronted. She just continued to smile sweetly at him, blinking her eyes a little. She did not speak a reply. She never did.

Tearing his eyes from his sister's face, Albus reached instead for the box of floo powder below the frame. He threw a large handful into the flames, giving the address of the little inn he wished to contact. This time, he did not put his own head inside the fire, but waited the few minutes for the international call to connect. When it did, the wizard he had called for came to him instead.

The wizard was quite young, though his face was aged beyond his years, and his light brown hair was already flecked with grey. He was tired and careworn, and his light eyes were saddened with years of tragic news and unshifting burden. It pained Albus – who knew this was one of the kindest and most loyal wizards he would ever know.

'Remus,' the headmaster greeted with a small smile, flicking one of the high-backed chairs closer to the hearth with a twist of his wrist. His knees were not quite up to kneeling, tonight. 'I do apologise for the lateness of the hour – I'm afraid I could not get away until now.'

'It is no trouble, Albus,' the wizard answered with an easy smile. 'It sounds like things have not been easy of late, up at the castle.'

'No,' Albus agreed with a frown, 'Things are quite troubled indeed. But that, I fear, is a much longer conversation. How have you been faring?'

Remus sighed. 'Not much new to report. The rumours are much the same as they were at Christmas, and though I have been unable to pinpoint the spot where Voldemort has hidden away, I have discovered additional dead animals, and a portion of forest where nothing seems to grow. I suspect that he is there, but it is difficult to tell for certain. I cannot trace a phantom, of course, and it seems the animals he inhabits are not long for this world when he shares their souls.'

Albus nodded, deep in thought. 'And you are still certain he has not obtained a human host?'

Remus answered with more satisfaction this time. 'I am positive. I set the wards we discussed in that general area of the forest – not that it was that likely anyway; it is a place that most Muggles avoid at all costs. Still, the repelling charms will keep any wayward hikers from stumbling upon that section of the wood. I could not set anything against wizarding kind, of course – the risk that he might recognise the ward is too great, and we could lose him to another hiding place entirely. But I have kept an eye out for travellers and foreigners – so far, there is nothing to report. The local magical population stays well out of the forest. They fear its curse even more than the most superstitious of the Muggles. And Voldemort would never stoop to prey upon the werewolves… their bodies are ill-adept for such magic in any case; the transformation would overrule the capacity for possession entirely.'

'Perfectly true,' said Albus, nodding his agreement. 'I thank you again, Remus. I know life has not been easy for you, this past year.'

Remus gave a little shake of his head. 'You know I am always happy to do my part, Albus. It is necessary work, and I am better suited for it than most.'

Albus smiled. 'You are,' he agreed. 'But that is not why I asked this of you. You are _best_ suited for it, because you are loyal, competent, and highly-skilled – whatever your extra… abilities.'

Remus blushed a bit, and cleared his throat. 'So what is the next step then? Shall we say the end of the term for my next report? Or would you prefer to schedule a sooner time? This inn is fairly discreet – I should be able to get in to use the fire whenever you –'

'No,' Albus said quietly, cutting him off. 'Now that the wards have been set, I think you have done everything we could hope for, at this moment. I think it unlikely that Voldemort will relinquish his hiding place until he sees an opportunity, and continuing to keep an Order presence in the area may rouse suspicion.'

Remus looked confused. 'Alright…' he said slowly. 'Do you wish me to go back to Germany?'

'No,' said Albus, shaking his head decisively. 'No, Remus. You are needed elsewhere, now. I think… I think it is high time you came home.'


	23. The Return of the Whispers

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 23: The Return of the Whispers**

Harry slept very uneasily the next two nights, racked with worry about the missing diary, the continued state of alarm in the school, and the upcoming quidditch match. His already overtaxed brain was not aided by the constant prattle from Hermione and many of the other second-years about their course selections for next term – for the time to choose their electives was finally upon them. Most of the students in his form were appealing to older students or siblings for advice, and some were even writing home to ask their parents' opinions. Hermione, who was highly concerned that she might close down a future career path by eliminating a vital area of magical study too early, refused all suggestion but signed up for every single elective. Ron, who dearly wanted the least addition to his workload possible, enrolled in for Care of Magical Creatures because it sounded interesting and easy, and Divination because he'd heard Trelawney was something of a pushover. Harry decided he'd sign up for both of these electives as well – although he knew McGonagall was likely to scoff. To pacify both her and Hermione, he allowed the latter to bully him into choosing Arithmancy as well. The entire process had left Harry with a migraine by the time the selections were due.

When Ron shook him awake on Saturday, Harry could barely even summon the energy for enthusiasm about the match against Hufflepuff that morning, too exhausted from recurring nightmares and general disquiet… afraid that the thief who had stolen Riddle's diary could be sleeping in a neighbouring bed.

'Come on, mate,' Ron said, shoving him out of the bed. 'Get dressed! You've got to have something to eat, or you'll be rubbish out there today.'

Harry yawned deeply, pulling on his quidditch gear. Ron, though as worried as Harry and Hermione had been about the puzzling theft of the diary, clearly had his priorities set for the day. He jabbered on about the Hufflepuff team's inadequacies and the likelihood that Harry would be able to feint to divert their new seeker, as Harry prepared for the match. Harry found that keeping up the flow of one-sided conversation took only the occasional nod, or grunt, or 'Yeah, that's right' from him. He tried to channel some of Ron's excitement, but he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off today.

The boys hurried into the common room, where Hermione was tapping her foot, waiting for them.

'We'd better hurry,' she said, giving her watch an anxious glance. 'There's not a lot of time for breakfast.'

'I know,' Ron moaned. 'It took me ages to get him up,' he complained. Harry rolled his eyes, leading the way out of the portrait hole.

The three of them were just coming down the steps to the entrance hall when Harry stopped suddenly, goose pimples rising on his arms. No… not today…

' _Kill this time… Let me rip you, tear you, kill you…_ '

'The voice!' he cried, startling Ron and Hermione so badly, Ron nearly fell down the last two steps. They stared back at him in bewilderment.

'Didn't you hear it?' he asked them desperately.

Ron shook his head, looking blank, but Hermione suddenly gave a gasp, clutching at his arm.

'Oh, oh Harry!' she said, her face brightening immediately. 'I think I've got it! I understand… I just need to check, really quick – give me ten minutes in the library!' She stood on the tips of her toes on the step below, giving him a swift peck on the cheek before darting past him toward the library. Harry stared after her, shaking his head to clear it.

'But – Hermione, breakfast!' Ron shouted after her, looking horrified that she would even consider dashing off to the library when the window for food was so rapidly closing. She ignored him, continuing up the stops in a run. Ron snorted. 'You'd think she could explain for once, rather than tearing off and leaving us without a clue,' he said grumpily.

'Yeah,' Harry said vaguely. He was still straining his ears, trying to catch the murderous whisper again. Ron frowned at him.

'Come on,' he said, pulling Harry down the last few steps. 'We've only got fifteen minutes to eat before you're supposed to be on the pitch.'

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Minerva was making her way quickly down the steps from the headmaster's study, cursing herself for cutting the time so fine. Only seven minutes until the start of the match. Quite apart from wanting to watch Harry and the Gryffindor team beat their Hufflepuff opponents, Minerva was anxious that neither she nor Albus were out at the pitch, when most of the students were in the stands and their worries still unresolved. She'd just reached the entrance hall when Filius appeared, sprinting down the steps after her and waving a hand. The professor halted for him to catch her up.

'Oh, Minerva,' said the tiny Charms teacher, shaking his head. He was slightly out of breath and in a clear state of panic. 'You must come, quickly. Ms Granger, and Ms Clearwater… there's been another attack,' he finished, looking devastated. Minerva felt her heart skip several beats.

'Show me,' she said at once. Filius began to mount the steps again, Minerva in his wake. He turned them off at the first floor landing and headed down the corridor in the direction of the library. Just as they reached the corner, Minerva saw.

The two girls – Hermione Granger and the sixth year Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater – were lying side by side, identical expressions of shock on their faces. A small hand mirror was clutched in the older girl's hand, held out between them. Their bodies were quite as still and frozen as Colin and Justin's had been.

'Madam Pince found them, just a minute or two ago,' Filius said gently from beside her. 'She sent for us both at once, but you must have already left your quarters. She was going to call for Albus as well –'

'I am here,' came Albus's deep voice from behind them. Minerva whirled immediately. The headmaster's face was very grave as he came to join them, sweeping past the teachers to bend over the two students.

'They aren't…' Minerva began, terrified.

'No,' said Albus gently. 'They have been petrified, but they are alive. Filius, perhaps you could fetch Argus and Madam Pomfrey to assist us in getting both young ladies to hospital wing. Minerva, would you deal with the match?'

'Of course, Albus,' she said at once, pulling herself together. 'I assume you want to cancel it?'

'Oh yes,' Albus agreed heavily. 'I do not want any of our students in additional danger, and it is much harder to protect the crowd in the grounds… there is no guarantee that whatever or whoever is causing these attacks cannot pose a risk outside the castle walls, and this is conclusive proof that he or she is capable of attacking more than one individual at a time. I would like all the students to head to their common rooms, and I want to see the staff immediately.'

'And Harry?' she asked, wringing her hands in anxiety.

Albus hesitated. 'I think you ought to tell him,' he said finally. 'I would rather he heard it from you than through the rumour mill from another.'

Minerva nodded and hurried away from the scene. She strode quickly out of the castle, conjuring a magical megaphone as she went. Another glance at her watch told her she had only one minute until the match was due to start. She took the last hundred metres at a sprint, waving a signal to Madam Hooch to hold the kick-off. Hundreds of faces turned toward her as she made it, slightly breathless, up to the pitch: some looked merely curious, others frightened.

Steeling herself, she held the megaphone up to her mouth. 'This match has been cancelled,' she said, to general disapproval. Ignoring the outbreak of protests, she continued. 'Prefects – please guide the students of your houses to your respective common rooms. You will remain there until your Head of House comes to address you. All members of staff, please report immediately to the staffroom for further instruction.'

Oliver Wood dismounted his broom at once, skidding in his hurry and running toward her with a devastated expression.

'You can't be serious, professor!' he said in horror. 'We've got to play the match – this is Gryffindor's year for the cup.'

Minerva felt a pang of agreement, but she concealed it, putting her sternest expression into place. 'You heard me, Wood,' she said brusquely. 'Lead your team immediately back to Gryffindor Tower.'

He turned away, crestfallen, and signalled to his team to gather their things. Every member of the team slunk after him, similar expressions of disappointment on their faces, except the smallest boy. Harry stood alone and a way back from the crowd, his face a pale mask of horror. Looking at him, she knew he registered what had happened. She saw his eyes raking the stands and the mass exodus of exiting students, and wondered if he was searching for his Muggle-born friend.

'Harry,' she called to him, walking closer. His eyes snapped to her at once, panicked and wide.

'I don't see her, professor,' he said in a shaky voice. 'I can't find her.'

Forgetting her sense of decorum, she ran the last of the distance, pulling him to her. 'Come with me,' she said softly, steering him toward the castle by the shoulder. He followed wordlessly, still looking numb and desperate. As they approached the great oak doors, Ron Weasley ran up beside them, clutching a stitch in his side. Minerva considered him for a moment.

'Yes, alright Weasley,' she acknowledged, answering the unasked question in his eyes. 'I suppose you had better come too.'

The children were silent as she led them to the hospital wing doors. Minerva paused outside the ward, turning to look at them both. 'This…' she said, hesitating. 'This may be a bit of a shock.'

She pushed the door to the ward open, and Harry and Ron entered cautiously, looking very apprehensive. They caught sight of their friend almost at once, laid out on a bed at the far end of the row.

'Hermione!' Harry moaned, tearing toward her, Ron at his heels. Harry put one hand tentatively on her shoulder, and Ron looked down at her frozen face as if he could wake the girl with the force of his gaze. Minerva gave them a moment before she approached them both gently.

'Ms. Granger and Ms Clearwater were found by the library,' she told them. 'Shortly before the match was due to begin. Ms Clearwater was holding this.' She showed them the little pocket mirror they'd found in the Ravenclaw's hand. 'I don't suppose it has any significance to you two?'

They both shook their heads, sparing the mirror a cursory glance before returning their focus to their friend. Minerva sighed, though she had expected it.

'She was just going to the library,' Harry whispered in a shaky voice. 'I shouldn't have let her go alone.' Minerva laid a hand on his shoulder again.

'Come,' she said to the boys. 'You can do no good for her here, and I need to get to the staff meeting. I will walk you both up to Gryffindor Tower.'

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Albus was very grave as he stood at the head of the long staff table. Most of his colleagues had been exchanging urgent whispers as he entered the room, but they fell silent on seeing him. Every wary eye was now trained upon him… except for two missing professors.

'Ah, Minerva,' he greeted her, as the Transfiguration professor slipped into the room.

'Apologies, Albus,' she said primly. 'I had to deal with a few students first.' He nodded his understanding, reading her subtext.

'Of course, of course,' he said, indicating that she should take the seat to his immediate right. He glanced over the gathered staff again. 'And where is Gilderoy?' he asked the room at large. Most exchanged exasperated looks, but nobody answered. Albus was just about to send Filch to fetch him when the door to the room suddenly burst open again.

'So sorry to be tardy,' said Lockhart, beaming around at the mass of teachers. 'I'm afraid I usually have a bit of a lie in on a Saturday… I do hope I haven't missed anything yet?'

Many of the staff looked revolted, and some outright angry… though Lockhart, still smiling, seemed not to notice. Albus moved quickly to pacify them. 'Your timing is impeccable, Gilderoy,' he said lightly. 'I was just about to start.'

'Wonderful,' Lockhart said, as he pulled up a chair beside Severus. Severus scowled immediately, sliding his own slightly closer to Pomona.

Albus cleared his throat. 'As most of you are undoubtedly aware by now, two more students have been attacked this morning.' All save Lockhart looked sombre, but unsurprised. The Defence teacher's jaunty grin slid off his face. 'Given the severity of the situation, I have decided that it is time to implement more stringent security measures. From here on out, students will be escorted by a professor to every lesson. If you are teaching a class with a lesson meeting after yours, you will lead those students to their next destination. Heads of House will work with the additional members of staff to ensure that each class is taken from the Great Hall to their lessons after breakfast and their midday meal. Prefects are no longer to be given permission to aid in the patrol of the corridors. All students must be in their house common rooms by eight o'clock each evening, at which point the Heads of House will take a roll to ensure that no student has been left in the corridors. No students are to be permitted to walk in the corridors without the presence of a staff member, for any reason. This includes students who need to visit the toilets or the hospital wing. Teachers are encouraged to discipline by taking house points, rather than assigning detentions. Any necessary detention assignments will be overseen by that student's Head of House, and are to take place during daylight hours on the week-end. All other evening and week-end activities – including quidditch – are to be postponed indefinitely.'

Albus finished the speech, looking around at the staff members. He expected some protest, but nobody spoke up. He waved his hand through the air, and a pile of scrolls appeared in the centre of the long table.

'I have written out these instructions for each of you. Heads of House should read the entirety to their students this morning, and address any questions or concerns. I would also like you to ensure that a copy of the new rules has been posted in each common room before the end of the afternoon.'

The teachers all nodded, passing the scrolls out among themselves.

'I would also ask that everyone keep to their patrol schedules. I will be increasing the number of people on duty in the evenings, and pass along a copy of the revised schedule in due course. I should also say,' Albus added, running his fingertips along the edge of the table's surface, 'that it is entirely possible that the school governors or the Ministry will wish to take more significant action, if we cannot resolve these crimes forthwith. You should prepare your students, and yourselves.'

Many of the staff looked horrified, though Albus thought it was hardly surprising. He himself was considering the possibility that the school should be closed. Though nothing would pain him more, he would not risk the lives or safety of his students for anything. Not even Hogwarts herself.

'You may go,' he said quietly.

Before anyone could call him back, Albus retreated from the room. He needed to prepare for Fudge.

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'We have to go see Hagrid,' Harry said determinedly, pacing the space between his and Ron's beds.

It was after curfew. He and Ron had gone up to their dormitory, though the other boys from their form were still down in the common room discussing the events of the morning. McGonagall had sent luncheon up to be served in the Tower – the teachers were busy trying to increase security around the school, and nobody had felt much like going down to the Great Hall anyway. For most of the afternoon, everyone had eschewed their workload, preferring to talk over their theories on the Chamber and who could be behind the attacks. Most of the Gryffindors were nervous; Hermione made the second of their house to fall victim to Slytherin's legendary monster. Lee Jordan had made an impassioned speech about the sagacity of just chucking all the Slytherins out, to general applause. Harry and Ron, however, remembering that the thief of Riddle's diary was likely sitting in attendance, were far less sanguine. They sat alone in a far corner of the common room for much of the afternoon, speaking little to anyone and wallowing in their own private grief.

Nobody bothered them, knowing that they were Hermione's closest friends. By the time dinner and Professor McGonagall appeared at nightfall, both Harry and Ron were ready to get away from their schoolmates. They ate as quickly as possible and excused themselves early, wanting to be away from the crowd and talk alone.

'How though?' said Ron miserably, flinging himself down on his bed in defeat. 'All the teachers will be patrolling the corridor, and McGonagall will murder us if we're caught out of bounds – especially you, mate.'

'I know,' said Harry heavily. 'But we said we'd go if there was another attack… and it's Hermione, Ron,' he pleaded. 'We can't just wait to see what happens next.'

Ron sighed. 'No,' he agreed. 'But how will we manage to sneak out to the grounds to see him?'

Harry was a step ahead, already digging through his school things. He emerged a moment later with his father's invisibility cloak in hand. 'We'll use this,' he said, holding out the cloak. 'And sneak out once the others have gone to bed for the night.'

Ron still looked uncertain, but he nodded in agreement.

A few hours later, once Neville, Dean and Seamus had stopped discussing the Chamber and finally fallen asleep, Harry kicked off his covers and tapped Ron on the shoulder. They pulled the curtains closed around their beds to hide them from view and ducked quickly out of the room, Harry with the invisibility cloak tucked under his arm. He threw the cloak over both of them before they exited the portrait hole, and they crept as silently as possible through the hushed castle and oak front doors. They were lucky, for the most part. On their cross of the entrance hall, they did have one nasty scare when they passed Snape prowling near the front doors and Ron – in his nervousness – nearly lost his cover under the cloak as he tripped over his own feet. Fortuitously, Snape happened to sneeze at precisely the right moment, and the fleeting danger went without fulfilment.

Harry and Ron waited for Snape to turn the corner up a passage on his watch, then slipped through as small a gap in the doors as they could manage. They stood for a moment on the steps, ears pricked for any sound that might indicate someone in the castle had noticed their departure. When the night remained undisturbed but for the occasional hoot of an owl on the hunt, they made for Hagrid's cabin as quickly as they could, picking their way carefully across the dark grounds.

Harry knocked three times on the hut door when they finally reached it. He could hear Fang, Hagrid's boarhound, snuffling at the door, and the muffled sounds of Hagrid himself moving about the room, but nobody came to answer his call.

'Hagrid,' Harry tried, rapping his knuckles on the wood again while Ron pulled the cloak from over their heads. 'It's us; Ron and I – let us in won't you?'

He thought he heard Hagrid muffle a low oath as he swung the door inward, a massive crossbow in one hand. Harry stepped back a little at the sight of the weapon.

'Going to shoot us, Hagrid?' Ron asked, giving a nervous half-laugh.

Hagrid looked down at the weapon briefly. Harry thought he seemed distracted. 'Sorry,' Hagrid said, stepping aside so they could enter. 'I'm expectin… well, doesn' matter.'

He shut the door firmly behind them as Ron crossed the threshold, bolting it. His eyes were shifty as he remained by the entrance, not looking at Harry or Ron but continuing to dart his gaze through the gap in the curtains on the window.

'Er – listen, Hagrid,' Harry started, feeling awkward now that the moment was upon him. 'I don't know whether you've heard about Hermione yet –'

'Oh, I heard alrigh',' Hagrid said darkly, still not looking at Harry. 'Dumbledore sent word straight away.'

'Right,' said Harry. He took a deep breath. 'Look, Hagrid,' he started again. 'We heard a few weeks ago that… that this isn't the first time the Chamber of Secrets has been opened at Hogwarts. That it happened once before, fifty years ago.' He paused, waiting for Hagrid's response.

Hagrid had pulled his eyes away from the curtains for the first time. He was now staring at Harry and Ron with a desperately sad expression. 'Listen,' he said urgently. 'I don' know what yeh've heard, but I never –'

But he broke off as Fang began to sniff around the door again, shooting an anxious glance at the gap in the window curtains. He swore.

'Get back,' he said, pulling the crossbow more firmly into his grip again. 'Keep back and under tha' cloak, and don' say nothin' – whatever yeh do. Whatever happens, hear me?'

There was no time to reply, for at that moment someone else knocked at the door to the hut. Harry and Ron exchanged terrified glances – had someone discovered they'd left their beds? Ron fished the cloak back out again and threw it over them both, and he and Harry backed as close to the corner of the little room as they could, pressing themselves against the wall by the hearth. Harry tried to calm his pounding heart, nervous that the newcomer would be able to hear it beating like a hammer against his ribs.

'Ah, good evening, Hagrid,' said a voice Harry did not recognise. He watched as a portly man entered the room, dressed in a long and fine travelling cloak and swinging a lime green bowler hat from one hand. He looked stately and solemn. Ron nudged Harry in the ribs under the cloak.

'That's Cornelius Fudge,' he breathed in Harry's ear. 'He's the Minister – Minister for Magic.'

Harry nodded his understanding, but gestured fervently at Ron to be quiet.

Fudge had not come alone. As they watched, Professor Dumbledore followed the Minister into the room, his face graver than Harry had ever seen it before.

'I am sorry to come so late, Hagrid,' Dumbledore said apologetically, his eyes sweeping the cabin as he spoke. Harry was almost certain that they lingered for a moment longer than was strictly usual on the corner where he and Ron stood, frozen and watching. His heart rate kicked up another notch.

'It's… it's no bother, Professor Dumbledore sir,' Hagrid said. Harry saw that his hands were trembling, and his gaze did not leave the Minister's figure. Fudge was spinning his hat round and round on his finger, Hagrid's eyes following its progress. Beside him, Fang gave a whimper.

'Very bad business, I'm afraid, Hagrid,' the Minister said in an awkward tone. 'All these attacks, I'm afraid we had to come. Have to get involved, you understand.'

Hagrid swallowed audibly, his gaze starting to shift between Fudge and the headmaster. 'Er – yes, Minister, o' course… but I don' know what I can –'

'It's not permanent, of course,' the Minister said kindly. 'Just a precaution for now, Hagrid. A few weeks, and then surely we'll have a better idea of what's going on here.'

'Cornelius,' Dumbledore interrupted, at Hagrid's pleading look. 'I do want it understood by everyone involved that Rubeus Hagrid has my full trust and support. We have spoken on that point already. I object most sincerely to –'

'I know, Dumbledore,' interrupted Fudge, pulling at his collar in discomfort. 'And I have registered your views with the Ministry. But I have to take him, you know that.'

'Take me where?' Hagrid said, stepping back a few steps. Fang began to whinge more heavily, pawing at Hagrid's knees. 'Not… not _Azkaban_ … surely?'

'As I say,' said the Minister again. 'It's not forever, Hagrid. It's a precaution only at this stage. Given your history –'

But the Minister was interrupted by another wizard's entry into the cabin. And this time, Harry recognised the new arrival. It was Lucius Malfoy, wearing a brilliant set of deep violet robes and the smuggest expression of triumph Harry had ever seen. He did not bother to knock before pushing his way into the hut.

'Get out!' Hagrid roared, turning his full temper on the blonde wizard. The man merely sneered in reply, giving the cabin a sweep with eyes that gleamed his disapproval and condescension.

'I assure you, gamekeeper,' Lucius said in a dry voice, 'I have absolutely no desire to be in this… hovel… any longer than strictly necessary. But I called up at the school and was told the headmaster had come here. I have business that cannot wait. Minister, a pleasure as always,' he added, giving Fudge a slight inclination of his head.

'And why did you wish to see me, Lucius?' asked Dumbledore, laying a hand that offered both comfort and caution on Hagrid's forearm.

Lucius's smirk grew wider. He withdrew a roll of parchment tied with a scarlet ribbon from an inside pocket of his cloak, handing it to Dumbledore with a flourish. The headmaster took the parchment and quickly undid the seal, perusing an official looking letter as Lucius gave his reply.

'As you will see,' he said – more for the room's benefit, Harry thought, than Dumbledore's – 'The school governors are in agreement. We think, perhaps, you are no longer up to the running of this school. So many attacks on Muggle-borns these past few months… two more just today, I hear, and yet you have been unable to catch the culprit. The governors feel it is time for you to step aside, Dumbledore, for the ah, _greater good_.'

Something in Dumbledore's eyes flashed for a brief moment, and Harry saw the candles in the cabin flicker. He thought wildly that Dumbledore might throw a curse at Mr Malfoy, but the feeling vanished almost as soon as it had arisen. Instead, Dumbledore merely folded the parchment, placing it into his pocket and smiling benignly up at Lucius.

'If that is the wish of the governors,' he said, 'then of course I will step aside.'

Harry felt as though someone had force-fed him acid. It was all he could do to keep his place beside Ron; the urge to run for Dumbledore – to beg him not to go; to scream and wail like a toddler in a temper tantrum – was so suddenly strong. Ron gave a muffled gasp of astonishment himself, gripping Harry's arm tightly beneath their cover. Harry could feel his own magic rebelling inside of him, burning beneath his skin, and Ron hissed slightly.

'That is – that's,' Fudge began stammering. 'You cannot be serious, Lucius. Remove Dumbledore from the school? No… no, that's the last thing we want right now.' Harry saw the bowler hat become a whirl of green, as the Minister began spinning it faster and faster in his agitation.

'Ah, but Minister,' Malfoy countered, his sneer growing more prominent even while his tone appeared regretful. 'The running of Hogwarts is at the discretion of the school governors, not the Ministry, I'm afraid.'

Fudge bristled, but Dumbledore intervened again.

'If it is the wish of the governors to appoint different leadership,' he repeated, 'then I shall step aside.'

'But –' the Minister started again. Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him.

'But you should know, Lucius,' Dumbledore said quietly, 'that I will never truly be gone from Hogwarts. Not while there are those here who need me, and who are loyal.'

Lucius inclined his head, still smirking. 'Touching sentiments, Dumbledore,' he said. 'I think, perhaps, we should remove ourselves to your office to discuss the transition.'

He turned for the door, and the headmaster followed. Before he left, however, Dumbledore placed a hand on Hagrid's arm.

'I will do everything in my power for you, Hagrid,' he said seriously, giving the giant's forearm a squeeze. Hagrid sniffled a bit, nodding at him. With one last half-glance toward Harry and Ron in their corner, Dumbledore followed Mr Malfoy from the room.

Fudge stared after them for a moment, still looking gobsmacked. Then he shook his head, turning back to Hagrid with an awkward clearing of his throat.

'I suppose we had better be off too then, Hagrid,' he said. The giant gave a sigh of resignation, releasing the cross bow carelessly onto the floor. He slumped as he followed the Minister toward his cabin door. On the threshold, he paused, wringing his hands.

'If anyone wanted ter know the truth,' he said, darting his eyes around the seemingly empty room, 'All they'd have ter do is ter follow the spiders. They'd lead 'em straight.'

Under the cloak, Harry and Ron exchanged a significant glance. Hagrid sighed again, reaching for the door handle to pull it shut behind himself and the thoroughly confused looking Minister. He paused again when the opening was just a small crack.

'And someone'll have to feed Fang, while I'm gone,' he finished. The door shut with a final bang.

'We're in trouble now,' Ron said darkly, as Harry wrenched the cloak off moments after Hagrid and the Minister departed. 'No Hagrid, and no Dumbledore.'

'I have to go see him,' Harry said, already making for the door. 'You take the cloak and get back to the dormitory.'

But Ron leapt at him, barring the door. 'Are you _mad_?!' he cried. 'You won't even make it past the entrance hall with the teachers on patrol, not to mention Lucius Malfoy went up with him and is probably still lurking round the castle. And there's nothing you can do, mate,' he added sympathetically.

Harry banged a fist against the door in temper, gaining nothing but a dull ache in his knuckles.

'I can't just let him leave!' he shouted back. Ron looked sadly at him.

'It's not forever, Harry,' he said. 'They'll bring him back in about five minutes, I reckon. I mean, if Dumbledore can't stop the attacks, who can?'

'That's what I'm worried about,' Harry said. 'Without him, we'll be lucky if there's only one attack a day… and I can't –'

He trailed off, not knowing exactly what he wanted to say. That he'd miss the headmaster? That he wouldn't know who to turn to if something went wrong? That he didn't feel safe at the castle with Dumbledore gone?

Ron sighed. 'Look, I get it,' he said, although Harry _really_ didn't think he did. 'But we'll only get into trouble if you go tearing off for Dumbledore's office now. We aren't even supposed to _know_ yet. Let's just… let's get back up to the Tower for now.'

Harry sighed, but nodded. It wasn't worth the continued argument. He'd drop Ron off in their dormitory, and sneak out again later on his own.

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The door to his office burst open. Albus knew at once who it would be, though the doorframe appeared empty and no knock announced his visitor.

Harry threw off the cloak as the door slammed shut behind him, his face already devastated.

'You can't go, sir!' Harry cried, before Albus had even opened his mouth in greeting.

Albus sighed, laying aside his travelling cloak and the half-finished hold-all he'd been packing.

'Harry,' he said, 'come here.'

'I know I shouldn't be here,' Harry started as he came closer, 'But I know you already know I was there – I heard everything. They can't sack you!'

'It is already done,' Albus said heavily. 'But do not worry yourself – I will be back before you know it. And you will be well looked after in the meantime. I want you to behave yourself, and be very, _very_ careful. You should not have been there tonight – it was reckless and you know it. And I cannot stress to you how important it is to keep to the school restrictions while there is such danger in the castle.'

Harry's lip was trembling. He wiped tentatively at the corner of one eye. 'I… I know I shouldn't have, professor. But I had to – Hermione…' he trailed off, his gaze drifting toward the mullioned windows. Albus saw that a light rain had started beyond the panes.

'I can't bear it if you go, professor,' Harry said in a small voice. 'I don't want you to leave me alone.' He didn't turn his gaze from the window, now biting hard at the trembling lip.

'Listen to me, Harry,' Albus said, grasping the crying boy firmly by the shoulders and bending down so they were eye to eye. 'I will not be far from Hogwarts, and I will never be far from you. I have no power to overrule the decision of the governors, but I am certain it will not be long before I am back.'

'But what about until then?' Harry said, still looking miserable. 'What will we do without you here?'

'Harry,' Albus said, very seriously. 'I will always come, if you need me. But if you get into trouble or danger while I am away, I want you to go immediately to Minerva or to Severus, do you understand me?'

Harry grimaced. 'I can't go to Snape, professor,' he complained. 'He'd never believe me.'

' _Professor_ Snape, Harry,' Albus chastised lightly. 'And he will do everything in his power to make sure you are safe, as he always has done. I want you to promise me that, no matter what, you will never risk your safety by not informing a teacher when you are in danger.'

Harry nodded, wiping at his eyes. 'I promise, sir,' he vowed solemnly.

Albus gave him a small smile. 'Good,' he said. He pulled the child into a brief embrace, then ushered him toward the door. 'Now hurry off to bed, before one of us gets into even more trouble.'

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Severus was just drifting into an uneasy sleep when a rap on the door to his quarters jolted him alert again. He stole a glance at his watch – nearly three in the morning. Cursing, he pulled himself off the mattress and tied his dressing gown quickly around his waist, wondering if perhaps one of his Slytherins had fallen ill in the night, to dare disturbing him at this hour.

'What is it?' he snapped, pulling the door ajar.

To his astonishment, the headmaster stood just on the other side, wrapped in a long travelling cloak. 'Albus?' he said in surprise, wishing he hadn't been so abrupt with his discourteous welcome.

'May I come in, Severus?' the headmaster asked politely. Severus pulled the door open a bit farther, stepping back so that Albus could enter.

'Are you going somewhere, Albus?' Severus asked, glancing again at Dumbledore's attire.

Albus gave a half smile. 'It seems so, yes,' he admitted. 'The governors saw fit to remove me tonight. Lucius Malfoy brought the news himself.'

Severus gaped. 'You cannot be serious,' he said, without his usual ire. 'And you are intending to give in to his rubbish?'

Albus sighed. 'I have little choice, at the moment. Though I doubt the decision will be permanent, I must step aside, for now.'

'Where will you go?' Severus asked, still processing.

'Oh, not far,' Albus assured him lightly. 'I think I shall take a room at my brother's, for now. I should like to be on hand should anything else happen here.'

'I don't doubt it,' said Severus wryly. 'And certainly your removal will do nothing for our current situation. Lucius's actions do not surprise me in the slightest, but I am astonished the other governors would concede to his will so easily.'

'No doubt there is more to the story,' Albus acknowledged heavily. 'But until it comes to light, I am afraid we are all bound by their decision. I have already spoken to Minerva about taking over my duties temporarily, and I fear the burden will fall on all the Heads of House to fill in the gaps in my absence… but that is not what I have come to you about.'

'Oh?' said Severus in mock anticipation. He thought he saw where this was going.

'Harry,' the headmaster said, simply.

Severus grimaced. 'The boy is as safe as we can make him at this time, Albus,' he said. 'Short of giving someone bedfellow duties, I scarcely think we can keep a closer watch on Potter.'

Albus hesitated a moment. 'I have told him to come to you, if anything should happen.'

Severus raised an eyebrow. He was unsurprised that Albus had done so, but he doubted Potter would willingly confide in him if there were any other teacher still breathing in the castle.

'I'll keep it in mind,' he drawled.

'Please do,' Albus said, seriously. 'And do let me know, if anything should… come up,' he added.

'Always, headmaster,' Severus said with a bow of his head.

It was awkward – this moment of departure. Even if he doubted it would last the week. Severus felt as though he should say something further…. Perhaps more meaningful… but Dumbledore was already turning for the door, a little smile on his lips.

'Oh, and Severus?' he added. The headmaster's eyes were dancing a bit now, in some private amusement.

'What is it, Albus?'

'Since you will be watching over Harry for me… I do feel there's something perhaps you should know,' he said. Severus raised one eyebrow again. 'Harry has inherited his father's invisibility cloak.'

And with that, the Headmaster of Hogwarts made his exit, leaving a dumbstruck and sputtering Severus to stare after him in horror.


	24. The Forest Hides Many Secrets

**A/N:** I'm very excited to share this chapter… as this instalment and the next chapter contain portions of the story I have been sitting on for quite some time and couldn't wait to explore. I'll try to get Chapter 25 up before end of week-end, because they really read best as a matched set.

A HUGE thank you again to all the reviewers and readers! You have provided so much inspiration and encouragement – I really appreciate it. There were a couple of queries in review and message… to those who asked them, do know that I _did_ see… but for purposes of not spoiling the story, I am going to refrain from giving an answer right now. I think you'll enjoy how everything plays out.

 **AECM** – This chapter, sadly, there is nothing from McGonagall's point of view… but don't fret, she'll be back and featured prominently in the next couple instalments!

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 24: The Forest Hides Many Secrets**

'You're not usually one for last orders, Albus,' Aberforth said gruffly, as Albus slipped into the pub. The front room was empty, the floo cold and barren, and Aberforth was just wiping down the wooden counter.

'Not usually, no,' Albus agreed with a small smile. 'But tonight, in fact, I am looking less for a drink than a room.'

Aberforth stared, narrowing his eyes. 'Last I checked, you got a whole castle full of 'em, don't you?'

'Ah, until tonight, it seems,' said Albus lightly, shrugging out of his travelling cloak.

Aberforth stopped his wipe-down of the bar surface, considering Albus. His eyes fell to the hold-all clutched in his hand. 'School governors have done it then?' he grunted, laying the cloth aside.

'Indeed,' Albus agreed. 'Lucius Malfoy came by earlier this evening with the missive.'

The barkeep snorted. 'Bunch of doddering old fools,' he muttered, picking the cloth up again and flinging it across the countertop. It was caught by the spigot, which quickly laid it neatly over the side of the basin. Aberforth bent below the counter, straightening up with a bottle of aged Firewhisky.

'I suppose we ought to have a nightcap then,' he said, shuffling out from behind the bar. 'Toast to your holiday, and all.'

Albus chuckled. 'Perhaps one,' he agreed. 'Here or upstairs?'

'Up in the back,' Aberforth decided, flicking his wand to send two glasses trailing them. He handed over an old-fashioned key. 'Go ahead and drop your things in Room 7, and meet me in the sitting room.'

Albus deposited his bag in the proffered room, and joined Aberforth a few minutes later in the little sitting area. The weight of their sister's portrait seemed heavy in the air – as it always did when he and his brother were sharing the space. But Aberforth, for once, was ignoring it, already busy with the bottle at the table. He handed Albus a drink as the erstwhile headmaster took a seat on the worn sofa.

'Cheers,' he said, knocking his own glass against Albus's and taking a deep pull. Albus raised his own in acknowledgment, and sipped at the bracing alcohol with slightly more reserve.

'Won't be for long, you know,' Aberforth muttered, giving Albus a sideways glance. 'I expect they'll have you back before the end of the month.'

'Perhaps,' Albus allowed. 'But if I cannot discover how the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and by whom, I fear that Hogwarts will have to be closed regardless of its leadership. We cannot expose the students to such danger, and living under the tyranny of fear is hardly the environment we need to bestow an education upon our wizarding children.'

Aberforth snorted, taking another swallow of his drink. 'Guess that's a point,' he conceded. 'But hard to see, really, how you _can't_ know after all this time… you, with your schemes and your brilliant mind and everything. I'd have thought you'd have it figured out long before now.'

Albus sighed heavily. 'You give me more credit than I deserve, Aberforth,' he said.

'Do I?' the barkeep challenged, piercing Albus with his own blue eyes. Albus faltered a bit. 'Ah,' said Aberforth, giving a slightly mocking smile. 'I thought not. How long have you known, then?' he asked. His tone was not quite angry, but somewhere between resignation and contempt. 'You always did play your cards far too close to your chest… but so many attacks on your precious pupils… in _this_ deception, you surprise even me.'

'I have no idea who is perpetrating the attacks,' Albus said, a bit of heat creeping into his own voice. 'Nor how the Chamber's monster has been released. I would never willingly subject my school to such atrocities.'

'But you are not as ignorant as you claim to be,' Aberforth accused, pointing a finger at his brother around the glass. 'You rarely are.'

Albus frowned, setting his own tumbler on the table. 'There is only one I know of who could open the Chamber – the one Heir of Slytherin. And he is certainly not at Hogwarts.'

'No need for your riddles and secrecy with me, Albus,' Aberforth grumbled. 'I know full well of whom you speak. And how can you be sure that Voldemort has not made his way into your school? He certainly managed to do so last year, no matter your _omniscience_.'

'Perfectly true,' Albus acknowledged. 'But I have since been more diligent in tracking his whereabouts. You know, of course, that Remus has been scouting the forest where we believe him to be hiding for many months now. He is certainly there; from which it rationally follows he cannot also be here.'

'Rationality,' Aberforth mused, swirling his whisky. 'You should know by now that rational thoughts hold very few answers, when considering the arts of a madman. His mind does not work like ours, Albus.'

'On the contrary,' Albus said lightly. 'I am quite positive that the puzzle does not end with his physical location. I am _certain_ that he holds the only way into the Chamber, and the only means by which to release its monster. What I cannot determine is how he has managed to influence another into opening it for him, as the only definitive in this disaster is that Voldemort is not, for the present, in the school himself… and by all accounts he has had no wizarding contact since his departure last June. Few people at Hogwarts even knew of the Chamber before its re-emergence, and none but Voldemort himself have ever been privy to its location. Even allowing that there is any way to access or utilise the Chamber of Secrets _without_ having Slytherin's blood, to do so would almost assuredly require a lengthy conversation with Voldemort, if not physical possession. Yet he remains alone and unaided, in a far-flung forest. It is a conundrum which troubles me greatly.'

Aberforth grunted. 'It seems you're in need of a dark wizard to bounce these thoughts off of, Albus. Someone who is a tad more in tune with the workings of Voldemort's mind. You have spent too long in the side of the Light to see things clearly.'

Albus felt a little affronted. 'I have managed well enough for several decades,' he said petulantly. 'Though I recognise your point,' he conceded, at Aberforth's raised eyebrow.

'Well, seems to me you have just such a conniving bastard at your disposal, don't you?' he said darkly, pouring himself another measure of whisky.

Albus frowned. Far apart from disliking when Aberforth referred to Severus in such a belligerent manner, he was quite sure that Severus would have already offered anything additional he had to give to resolve the situation.

'Look here,' continued Aberforth, when Albus did not reply. 'I can't bear the thought of him – you know that. And I hate that you've kept him alive all these years… But you have, haven't you? And keeping a caged pet might as well have its uses. Make him give you this much.'

'I'm not sure that is how I would describe our arrangement,' said Albus coldly. 'And in any case, he has given me everything he can already. There is nothing more he has to offer, and little more I could ask of him.'

'You ought to have killed him years ago, mind,' said Aberforth, seeming not to have heard his brother as he stared off into the empty room in contemplation. He spilled a bit of his drink as he took an angry gulp with his fists tightly clenched. 'Bastard deserved no better. He did not warrant your compassion… or forgiveness, or whatever they call what it was you saw fit to gift him.'

'Forgiveness and compassion are of the highest form of magic, Aberforth,' Albus said softly. 'And we are all deserving of them, in some regard.'

'There are things which are unforgivable!' Aberforth spat, slamming the tumbler so hard to the table that the crystal cracked. 'Lives which can never be returned – families which will never be whole again! Things for which _only_ death can do justice.'

'There are things much worse than death, my dear brother,' Albus disagreed, now with great sadness. 'Remorse… regret… helplessness in the hands of fate. Living with those burdens is far greater a penance than swift passage to the afterlife. And you can have no idea how much Severus suf –'

' _Severus!?_ ' Aberforth snarled, emerging from his newly-repaired glass with an incredulous sputter. 'What do I care what you do with your Potions master? I am not speaking of _him_ , Albus. You keep far greater prizes chained and bound to your will… or don't you remember?'

And suddenly, with a rising sense of apprehension and fear, Albus understood. And with an even greater thrill of revulsion, he knew… Aberforth was right.

'I will go tomorrow night,' Albus said decisively. He poured each of them more from the bottle, draining his own uncharacteristically fast.

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'We're going tonight,' Harry said, as soon as Ron woke him to get ready for Transfiguration.

'Ok,' said Ron with a nod of his head. 'Er… where, exactly?'

Harry shot him an exasperated look over the lid of his trunk, as he rummaged for a clean pair of socks. 'After the spiders,' he said shortly. 'Like Hagrid told us to.'

Ron grimaced, and Harry knew why. He, Ron and Hermione had come across strange little groups of spiders several times in the past few months, filing through the cracks in the doors and windows in organised queues – almost as if they were answering some odd call to flee the castle in droves. He and Hermione had been fascinated by their procession… but Ron always backed as far from the crawling creatures as he could get.

Ron _hated_ spiders.

'Hagrid's ideas are not always safe, mate,' he put in, sounding uncertain. Harry glared.

'It's the only lead we've got,' Harry retorted. 'And I'm not hanging round to wait for someone else to get attacked. The monster _killed_ someone last time, Ron!'

'I know, Harry,' Ron conceded, backing away a bit with his palms up. 'I know. But I still think we're bound to get caught sneaking off to follow spiders… we were almost rumbled last night.'

Harry bit his lip. He hadn't told Ron that he paid a visit to Dumbledore… or that Dumbledore had known they were in Hagrid's hut. He knew that Dumbledore would be furious _and_ disappointed if he found out that Harry was disobeying his explicit instructions just hours after he'd left the castle… but Dumbledore hadn't been there to hear Hagrid's message, either. And Harry had to know the truth.

'We'll use the cloak,' he said, decisively. 'It'll be risky, but we'll have to take our chances. We've got to find out what Hagrid was trying to tell us.'

Ron sighed in defeat.

By the time night had fallen, whatever his convictions to Ron, Harry was starting to feel increasingly nervous. They'd had trouble even _finding_ spiders to follow at all – the castle seemed completely devoid of arachnids now, however prevalent they might have been all term in their odd little marches. He'd been about ready to suggest that they might have to check the library for some sort of spell to locate a spider when they'd finally had a stroke of luck following Professor Sprout over the grounds from Herbology into dinner at the end of their final lesson. There were a few spiders scuttling across the grass, making a beeline for the Forbidden Forest. The apparent destination did nothing to ease Ron's anxiety.

They waited until nearly midnight to make their escape from the dormitory, holding off until the other boys were deeply asleep. Then, like the night before, they donned Harry's invisibility cloak and crept out of the portrait hole. They were more fortunate tonight – it seemed to be Lockhart's turn on guard duty in the entrance hall, and sneaking past his vigil was far easier than fooling Snape had been.

Harry and Ron slipped into the night, hearts racing with adrenaline and apprehension as they picked their way across the silent park, searching the ground for signs of scuttling spiders. It was very hard without their wands or a glint of moonlight to guide them.

'There!' Harry said at last in an urgent whisper, nudging Ron in the ribs and pointing at a spot about two feet ahead of them. A little parade of spiders was moving rapidly across the earth, headed in a solemn march right toward –

'The forest,' Ron whispered back, groaning slightly. 'I suppose I should have guessed as much after this afternoon.'

Harry gave his shoulder a squeeze. 'It'll be fine,' he said, bracingly. 'We can take Fang with us – he's used to being in there with Hagrid.'

Ron gave a weak sort of agreement, and they headed for the gamekeeper's darkened hut. In truth, Harry was not feeling particularly sanguine about their impending task either – he'd been in the forest at night only once before, and that experience had nearly got him killed. He wasn't anxious to repeat it. But, on the other hand, he _had_ been into the trees many times with Hagrid during the daytime over the past summer, and he _did_ think he ought to show slightly more grit for Ron's sake. Ron had been in hospital wing having his dragon-bitten hand treated when Harry and Hermione had received the detention that sent them into the forest last year… and he'd never been in. The thought of Hermione stiffened his resolve, as he pushed the unlocked door to Hagrid's hut firmly inward. Fang began to bark at once.

'Shh, Fang, it's only us,' he said, flicking the cloak off his shoulders and scratching the boarhound's ears to calm him. 'Fancy coming for a walk?' Fang yipped twice in enthusiasm, and Harry secured Hagrid's heavy slip lead around the dog's neck.

'Let's go,' he said to Ron, putting the invisibility cloak on the hook by Hagrid's front door.

'You're leaving that here?' said Ron dubiously, watching Harry hang the cloak.

Harry shrugged. 'It's pitch black out there, and nobody's likely to see us in the forest anyway. I'd rather not risk losing it.'

'But what about the _things_ in the forest?' Ron put in nervously. 'What if they see us?'

Harry shook his head. 'They'll smell us anyway,' he said darkly. 'The cloak will only slow us down if it comes to it – it's hard to run together and keep it on.'

Ron shuddered, but made no comment. The three of them made their way out into the grounds again, Fang bounding happily in front toward the trees. Harry was pulled roughly along with him – the dog was a lot stronger than he was.

'Steady, Fang,' he said, trying to slow their stride. Fang obediently eased to a walk as they made their way onto the forest path.

'Where now?' Ron asked in a whisper.

' _Lumos_ ,' said Harry, lighting his wand tip and casting the beam across the ground. Ron followed suit. After a few moments, Harry caught sight of the spider trail again. 'Looks like they're following the path,' he said, indicating the spiders with a nod of his head.

'Good,' Ron replied, looking relieved.

The three of them followed the trickle of spiders in silence for a good half-hour, Fang occasionally halting their progress to mark a tree or sniff eagerly at the brush. The forest grew steadily thicker around them, deepening the darkness of the night as they marched slowly on. Then then spiders left the earthen path, and Harry and Ron followed them into the heart of the forest, their hearts pounding in their chests. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck were beginning to prickle – whether in trepidation over their ultimate destination or in response to the magic of the wood, Harry couldn't tell.

Suddenly, Fang let out a booming bark, staring through a dense set of juniper trees at something Harry couldn't see. He jumped in surprise at the noise, and Ron bumped into him.

'Sorry mate,' he said in a whisper. 'But blimey – what's got into F–'

'Ssh!' Harry said urgently, straining his ears and following the dog's gaze. He couldn't see anything at all, but in the distance he heard something – a muffled sort of crashing, like something large and fast was making its way toward them, stomping brush beneath massive feet.

'Oh Harry, this is bad… this is bad… oh no,' Ron began to moan beside him, shifting closer.

'Shut up, Ron!' Harry hissed. 'It'll hear us.'

'Hear _us_?' Ron repeated in a high-pitched squeal. 'It's already heard Fang! It's coming right at us!'

There was sense in that, Harry thought. He pulled at the dog's lead, backing them slowly away. But then, in a burst of sound and blinding light, the thing crested a hill in the wood and came barrelling at them. Harry bucked backward in panic, letting go of the lead. The boarhound whinged in fright and tore off, back toward the path that would take him to Hogwarts.

'Fang!' Harry cried, turning to stare after the fleeing dog. Fang did not stop in his haste to get away from the incoming danger.

'Harry, look!' Ron shouted from his right. To his astonishment, Ron's voice was relieved. 'Bloody hell, mate – it's our car!'

And so it was. To Harry's shock, Ron was slowly approaching the same blue Ford Anglia they'd flown to the castle nearly seven months ago. The paint was chipped in places, and the bonnet a little more battered than it had ever been before. There were streaks of brown and green lining the doors, as if the car had taken to meandering through the trees on its own. The car had dimmed its headlamps, slowly creeping toward Ron's outstretched hand as the latter crossed the clearing.

'I don't believe it,' Ron said in bewilderment, patting the roof of the vehicle. 'It's like the forest has turned it somehow – it's gone wild out here.'

'Yeah,' said Harry in agreement, staring at the odd reunion. But the prickling on his neck had started again. 'Ron, I think we should –'

Harry's musings were cut off, as something massive and hairy gripped him hard around the middle, yanking him up into the air. He saw Ron's eyes widen and his mouth fall open in horror, but before he could take a breath to cry out to him, Ron had been hoisted into the air too.

Craning his neck, Harry could see that the creatures holding them _looked_ like spiders. They had great long pincers, perilously close to his face; several pairs of glittering black eyes; and legs that stretched at least six feet off the ground. The creature holding Harry began clicking loudly in some weird cadence at the one with Ron, as they carted the two boys even deeper into the forest. Harry struggled against the spider's hold, but it merely spun him a few times like a top in its grip, making him dizzy. He could hear Ron whimpering in utter terror beside them… his own voice seemed to have deserted him. After what felt like hours, both he and Ron were dropped unceremoniously to the forest floor in another clearing. Harry's head banged hard against a stone as he smacked the earth, momentarily sending stars across his vision. Squinting past the pain, he almost wished his gaze would remain unfocused.

The ground was covered in swarming, scuttling spiders – so many it took Harry a moment to recognise that he wasn't staring at swirling earth. Worse yet, the two creatures who had deposited Harry and Ron were not the only massive specimens now… the entire clearing was surrounded by six-foot tall monsters, all clicking madly to one another and gnashing their pincers in the boys' direction as they stood sentry. Ron, who had just straightened up himself, went from pale to green faster than Harry could have imagined, and was violently sick right where he stood.

' _Aragog_!' said a dry, reedy voice. Harry looked wildly around, but there was no other human in the clearing with them. Then he realised, with another swoop of horror, that it was one of the giant spiders who had spoken.

'Aragog!' the creature called again. Harry backed away so he was level with Ron, drawing his wand with a grip so tight he was faintly afraid he might snap it.

From the middle of the circle of spiders that surrounded the clearing, a gap began to form. Harry's heart leapt for a moment, wondering if they could perhaps make their escape through the opening. But he hadn't even nudged Ron before he realised why the spiders had parted.

Through the gap came the largest and most terrifying creature yet, crawling out from what seemed to be a huge, doomed web. Its legs had to be eight or ten feet in length, though they spread slightly farther out from the massive, hairy body, so that the creature was lower to the earth than his companions. This spider was greying – perhaps with age – and its eyes were not the deep black of their captors but a milky, dull white. Harry realised it must be blind.

'Why have you disturbed my rest?' the great spider clicked in irritation. Ron clenched Harry's arm tightly in fear, his hand shaking and damp with sweat.

'Men have entered into our domain,' the first spider answered.

'Hagrid?' Aragog asked in slightly different tone, taking a step closer to the boys.

'No,' the first spider denied. 'These are younger men – strangers.'

Aragog paused. 'You may kill them,' he said, indifferent. 'I care not.'

'Wait!' Harry cried desperately, as the leader began to retreat. 'Please! We're friends of Hagrid's.'

The spider paused in its retreat, turning its deadened stare toward the sound of Harry's voice.

'Friends of Hagrid?' he repeated. The spiders around the circle began to click more restlessly. 'Hagrid has never sent another human into our home before.'

'He's… he couldn't come himself,' Harry hurried on, trying to block out the unnerving sight of the angry sentries. 'He's in trouble. We came to try and help.'

'And how are you to help him?' Aragog asked. Harry thought, under the disturbing clicking and harsh tone, that the creature might actually be concerned. He swallowed deeply, thinking fast.

'The Ministry thinks that Hagrid has been opening a place called the Chamber of Secrets – up at the school. A monster has been attacking the students. They think Hagrid let it loose. He was taken to Azkaban, last night.'

Aragog began clicking his pincers furiously, so that Harry had to strain his ears and his pounding head even harder to make out his reply. The task was made more difficult as, up and down the edges of their circle, dozens of the other spiders began to echo his rage in a sort of horrible chant.

'That was years ago!' the spider cried. 'Many, many years. I was so young, but I remember it. They forced Hagrid to leave the school, because they believed that _I_ was the creature of Slytherin. They believed that Hagrid set me free.'

Harry felt suddenly both confused and immensely relieved. 'It wasn't you, then?' he asked, though he thought he already knew.

Aragog gave a sound that might have indicated offence. ' _I_ – the Monster of Slytherin?' he said indignantly. 'No… Hagrid procured me as an egg from a traveller, only the summer before the attacks began. I was laid in a far distant land, and Hagrid hatched me in a cupboard at the castle. He raised me for the better part of nine months, hidden away in a corner of the dungeons, feeding me off scraps from the table, mice, and rats. He was good, and very kind, even as a boy. He is my friend.'

As the spider spoke, Harry remembered Tom Riddle's memory – the Potions classroom which was then naught but a storage space… the scuttling creature that had shot past them as Hagrid fought Tom Riddle to defend it.

'Hagrid protected me, when they discovered my existence and tried to blame me for the death of a girl and several other injuries to students. But they would not listen. They expelled him for the crime. He had sMuggled me away from the castle, deep into the forest, and he found me this hollow to call home. Eventually, Hagrid also brought me my wife, Mosag. And now, thanks to Hagrid's generosity, our family grows every day.'

As if in answer to his speech, the swell of clicking pincers around them accelerated again.

'And you've never attacked anyone?' Harry asked in clarification.

'I have never tasted human flesh,' Aragog conceded. 'It would have been my natural tendency, of course, to attack prey. But I owe Hagrid my existence… and for that debt, I will never harm a human. The body of the dead girl was found in a lavatory, many floors above my dungeon cupboard. We are not a race that enjoys the light, you see… we like it in the dark and quiet.'

'So what killed her, then?' Harry pressed. He couldn't help but notice that the spiders' circle was growing tighter – inching toward their clearing. He wanted to get this conversation over with and leave. 'Don't you know?'

'WE DO NOT SPEAK ITS NAME!' Aragog shouted – or clicked very loudly in what Harry assumed was meant to be a shout. 'I have never said it aloud – not even to Hagrid, though he has asked me, many times. It is an ancient and terrible beast; one which our kind fear above all others. I pleaded with Hagrid to let me go, when I realised its presence in the castle. I could sense it – moving about the school. Just as my brethren can sense it now.'

Harry was wild with curiosity, so close to the truth at last. But the spiders surrounding them were closing in more quickly, and he could tell that Aragog was growing weary with the conversation. Even now, he was backing slowly away from them.

'Thank you,' Harry said, trying to be polite. 'We, er… we'll leave you in peace then.'

'Oh no,' said Aragog quietly, still moving away. 'I'm afraid not. You see, my children do not harm Hagrid, on my command. But you… you are not Hagrid. And I cannot deny them, when you have come so willingly into our hollow.'

'No!' Harry cried, struggling for breath as panic began to set in full force again. 'Wait – you can't!'

But Aragog was fading into the crowd, the other spiders closing him out beyond their view. 'Goodbye, friends of Hagrid,' he heard the spider say softly.

And he was gone.

Harry clutched his wand more tightly, back to back with Ron as they circled, trying to see a way through the wall of legs and fangs. The spiders were still clicking excitedly, but they were slow in their advance – confident in their conquest.

'There's way too many,' Ron said desperately in his ear. 'We'll never get past them.'

'We'll have to try,' Harry whispered back, steeling himself for battle.

With a roar, he shot an impediment jinx at an oncoming spider. He hit the creature in its soft underbelly, where he'd guessed it would be weakest, and luck was on his side. The spider fell backward with a keening squeak, toppling into three or four of its neighbours. Most unfortunately, however, the use of magic seemed only to hasten the advance of the remaining predators.

Harry pulled his arm back to try again, though he knew he'd never hit them all. But at that moment, a blaze of light and blare of a horn came bursting into the clearing, sending spiders scattering.

'The car!' Ron screamed, in both relief and astonishment.

It was, indeed, the Weasleys' car again. The vehicle spun around them in a circle, sending creatures flying where it took their legs from under them. Others fled to the trees, away from the glare of the headlamps. The motor came to a screeching halt beside them at last, flinging its doors open.

'Get in!' Ron cried as he dove into the seat.

Harry didn't need telling twice. He threw himself into the other side, and the car slammed its doors against the barrage, streaking off into the trees again, still sending the occasional spider flying as it raced them away.

At the edge of the forest, when Harry could see the outline of the school through the branches, the car came to a stop so abruptly that he nearly cracked his head again. He hastily reached for the handle of the door, climbing out on shaking legs. Ron followed, looking even more unsteady than Harry felt. He tottered straight for Hagrid's hut, not looking back at Harry or the car.

'Thanks,' Harry said softly to the Ford Anglia, patting the bonnet. The car shut its doors softly again, and reversed into the trees.

'You okay?' Harry asked Ron, as he approached the cabin to find his friend bent nearly double, leaning heavily on one hand he'd placed on the side of the house.

'Ugh,' Ron moaned, straightening with some effort and wiping at his mouth.

Harry realised he must have sicked up again. Fang, who had apparently been waiting for them in Hagrid's front garden, gave a whimper, nudging at Ron's hip with his huge head.

'That was close,' Harry allowed, leaning heavily against the side of the hut as well. His head was still throbbing from its impact with the ground, and he could feel himself shaking as the adrenaline continued to pulse through his system.

' _Close_!' Ron hissed angrily. ' _Close_?! Harry – that idiot almost sent us to our deaths! "Follow the spiders"… sometimes, I think Hagrid's completely lost his marbles. I'll never forgive him for this one, I swear.'

'I don't think he thought Aragog would let them hurt us,' said Harry fairly, dragging Ron toward the door by the arm.

Ron snorted in disbelief as Harry pushed the door ajar again, letting Fang into the cabin and retrieving the cloak from its hook.

'That's exactly his problem though, isn't it?' Ron pointed out as Harry stuffed a biscuit at Fang to quiet him. 'He never thinks monsters are as bad as they seem. Always has to give them a chance… and what did it get him? Expelled, when he was at school. And now – chucked in Azkaban.'

Harry didn't say anything, shaking out the cloak to pull it over their heads.

'And for all that – we learned nothing!' Ron continued to rant, as Harry shut the door behind them and started back up toward the castle. 'Except that there's another bloody monster in this accursed school.'

'Exactly,' Harry said, finally breaking in. 'And that's _everything_ , Ron. Hagrid never opened the Chamber of Secrets, did he? He was innocent after all – they got the wrong person!'

Ron huffed. 'Well, he was innocent of _murder_ , anyway,' he said grumpily. 'But I don't get that either, Harry. If Hagrid _wasn't_ the one who opened the Chamber, then why did the attacks stop after he was expelled?'

Harry frowned, uncertain. 'Maybe…' he said slowly, trying to work it out. 'Maybe the Heir of Slytherin, or whoever it was, got nervous after Hagrid was caught? Or maybe he just graduated at the end of term – left the school, so there was nobody left to set the monster loose?'

They broke off their musings as the front doors drew closer, not wanting to risk that someone might be patrolling the entrance hall. Harry double-checked the hem of the cloak to ensure that their legs and feet were completely hidden, then pushed the smallest gap they could afford between the doors. He and Ron slipped back inside as silently as possible, careful to shut the doors behind them. They walked back up the long staircase for Gryffindor tower in silence, not daring to risk the notice of any wandering patrollers.

'We've been gone longer that I'd thought,' Harry said in a very low whisper, as they finally reached their landing and a thorough sweep of the area had revealed no hidden teachers. Ron spared a glance for his own watch. He frowned.

'We'd better get back up before the teachers notice we're gone, mate,' Ron said as they reached the corridor to Gryffindor tower. 'Snape is likely to kill us if he finds we're out of bed again.'

'How correct you are, Weasley,' said a silky voice from their left. Harry and Ron both jumped as Severus Snape appeared out of nowhere, one long-fingered hand snatching the cloak from over their heads.

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Severus had spent much of the night in his study, trying and failing to distract his churning thoughts with a series of uninteresting literature. Albus had yet to be gone a full 24 hours, but already Severus could tell that his absence was affecting the school. Most of the students were warier than ever, sticking to each other in packs and darting suspicious glances at other forms and houses. Some of his Slytherins, of course, revelled in the old man's departure. Draco Malfoy had already spent half a Potions lesson regaling Severus with the many reasons why the Potions master himself would be the best choice to replace Dumbledore in the top post. Most of the staff, meanwhile, spoke in whispers to one another at break, feared the close of the school was growing imminent, and went about their duties with more gravity than usual – with one glaringly obvious exception. The entire affair had left Severus with a deep sense of unease.

And then there was Potter…

'Tilly,' he called into the silent room at half two. The house-elf appeared with a crack, bowing low.

'Master Snape, sir,' she offered. 'What can Tilly do?'

'I would like you to perform a quick check of the Gryffindor second year boys' dormitory, Tilly,' said Severus, without preamble. 'See that all the occupants are asleep in their beds – but wake nobody. Report your findings to me as soon as you are finished.'

'Of course, sir,' Tilly said at once. She popped away immediately.

Severus didn't know precisely why he felt the need to send the elf to check… but somehow, he had a feeling that Albus's departure would leave the boy more open to rash and headstrong action. And he could hardly storm Gryffindor Tower on his own to be sure the boy hadn't given in to his persistent habit of wandering the corridors after nightfall.

Less than a minute later, Tilly appeared again with another crack, wringing her hands nervously.

'What is it?' Severus asked. 'Did you complete the task?'

'Tilly did, sir' she said. But she hesitated.

' _And_?' Severus pressed. He could read the answer in the elf's eyes already – but he wanted the words spoken aloud.

'There is two empty beds, Master Snape,' she admitted. 'The red-haired boy… and Master Harry, sir.'

Severus growled. 'And they were not in the dormitory to your knowledge?'

Tilly shook her head. 'No, sir,' she said sadly. 'Tilly is checking the toilets and the common room too, sir, but they isn't in the tower that she can find.'

Severus clenched his jaw so hard he feared he might crack a tooth. 'Very well,' he spat at the elf. 'Thank you. You may go.'

Tilly popped away again immediately, looking frightened of Severus's rising temper. Severus paced the floor for a few minutes, fuming. Albus had barely been gone a day, and yet already he had lost the foolish child. _No_ , he thought back at himself. _Already the brat has run off on some idiotic scheme – ignoring both school rules and Albus's explicit instruction, as he always has done… arrogant as his father before him… no care at all for his own safety_.

He worked himself into a good stride of fury, then allowed it to carry him from the dungeons, throwing a disillusionment charm over himself as he ascended toward the tower. If the brat wanted to run off in the night; he would learn the consequences.

But Severus had barely stood at the entrance to the Gryffindor tower for three minutes when he heard low excited muttering, though the corridor still appeared deserted. _Under that infernal cloak then_ , Severus thought, mentally cursing Albus again for allowing the reckless brat to keep and use such a nefarious item. He waited until the boys were right at the portrait before revealing his presence, smirking in satisfaction as he saw their dumbstruck faces when he pulled the cloak roughly from over their heads.

'Out for a midnight stroll… sneaking around under this,' he brandished the cloak at them. 'You foolish brats! Dumbledore may be temporarily gone, but that is not an invitation for you to let your idiocy free reign! Explain yourselves.'

'We were… er,' Weasley started, but he faltered. Potter quickly stepped in.

'Going to see Professor McGonagall, sir,' he said.

'Really?' Severus queried sceptically. 'At this hour and under an invisibility cloak… I find that difficult to believe.'

'I, er, had a nightmare, professor.' Potter continued. 'Professor Dumbledore said to tell her if it happened again while he was gone… and I couldn't fall back to sleep. I accidentally woke Ron up, so he came with me since we aren't supposed to walk around on our own. We only used the cloak because we didn't want to get into trouble.'

'Are you fevered?' he asked Potter sharply, his eyes raking more critically over the flush of the cheekbones, the perspiration on the brow. He knew these strange nightmares sometimes caused Potter to become physically ill. Perhaps the boy was sincere in his desire to see the Gryffindor Head of House … but Potter shook his head firmly.

'No, professor,' he said insistently. 'I just couldn't get back to sleep… and I wanted to get a potion from Professor McGonagall.'

Severus frowned. 'You're bleeding,' he pointed out, just noticing a slow tickle of blood on the child's temple – apparently coming from a cut somewhere on the side of his head. 'And Weasley is bruised,' he added, noting that one eye on the red-head's face was slightly darkening. 'How did you come by these injuries, if you've been nowhere but your bed tonight?'

'Er…' Potter hesitated. 'I… I sometimes don't really know what I'm doing when I wake up from one of the dreams, you see. I accidentally hit Ron, and then I fell over and I think I hit my head on the nightstand.'

'Hmm,' Severus said. He still did not believe them. 'Then I suppose your Head of House will be able to vouch for your whereabouts tonight?'

'Ah, no, professor,' the boy admitted. 'Actually, we knocked on her door, but she didn't answer. I thought maybe she was staying up in the headmaster's tower for the night – since she's filling in and all… I didn't think of it before we left the dormitory, and then when I realised she wasn't in her quarters, we thought it was probably too far a walk in the middle of the night, so… we were just headed back to bed.'

Severus glared down at the pair of them. He didn't fully believe their story… but, on the other hand, everything the child said could be true. He crossed his arms over his chest.

'I am going to take thirty points from Gryffindor for your foolishness tonight. No matter the reason, you should not be out of bed and wandering in the corridors these days. Especially on your own and after dark.'

'But –' Weasley started to protest. Severus shut him up with a piercing look.

'You are lucky I am choosing to believe this story at all, Weasley,' he spat at him. 'And if you open your mouth again, I shall take fifty – from _each_ of you.' Weasley snapped his mouth closed with a mulish expression. Severus continued, 'Get inside – I shall take a look at you both before you return to your beds.'

Potter muttered the password to the Fat Lady's portrait, and Severus waved both boys ahead of him into the darkened common room, setting the candles alight with a flick of his wrist.

'Sit,' he commanded, gesturing toward the nearest sofa. The boys sank onto it, looking apprehensive. Severus laid the cloak he'd taken from Potter on a side table and withdrew his wand. He started with the Weasley boy.

'Are you injured anywhere but your eye?' he asked him. Weasley shook his head, and Severus nodded. 'A charm should heal this, though a balm would be more effective. If it purples in the morning, see Madam Pomfrey between lessons.' He tapped the tip of the wand against the boy's ocular bone, and the bruising immediately began to fade. He turned to the other brat.

'Sit up, Potter,' he said brusquely, 'And lean forward a little.'

Potter obeyed immediately, still looking nervous. Severus tilted the boy's head to one side, trying to get a better look at where the blood was coming from. Just past his hairline there was a lump, a dark cut indented at its centre – the idiot must have smacked his head quite hard. Severus prodded the area gently, and the boy jumped under his hands.

'This is quite deep,' he said. 'And it needs to be cleaned first. Tilly,' he called. The little elf appeared once more with a crack, and both Gryffindors started violently. Severus smirked despite himself.

'Master Snape?' the house-elf inquired.

'Fetch my potions bag, please. It should be on the hall table in my quarters.'

'Of course, sir,' the elf said immediately. She popped away and back again within seconds, leaving the sack on the sofa beside Potter. Severus rummaged through it impatiently, retrieving the necessary items.

'Here,' he said to the Weasley boy again, withdrawing a small tub of bruise balm. He might as well save himself the explanations to Poppy in the morning. 'Rub it on now, and again when you awaken.' The child took the container dubiously, as though frightened it might explode in his hand. Severus snorted. 'I haven't based it in acid, you fool,' he snapped. Weasley quickly unscrewed the lid, beginning to rub the paste gingerly over his face.

'Now you,' he said, pointing a finger at Potter. 'Look straight ahead, and don't move.' Potter obliged, and Snape bent closer to see his face, shining the light from his wand carefully into each eye to check his pupils. 'Now follow it,' he ordered. Potter carefully traced the wand tip's path as Severus moved it slowly to one side, then the other. He nodded in satisfaction, rummaging in the sack again.

'Take this now, for the pain,' he said, handing over a small draught of potion.

'It doesn't hurt much, professor,' Potter protested. Snape sneered.

'It will when I apply the solution necessary to clean it,' he warned the child. 'But if you'd rather suffer, be my guest.'

'Er, no,' Potter said quickly. 'I'll take it – thanks, sir,' he said, quickly downing the phial, pulling a face at the taste.

Severus waited a minute or so for the effects to penetrate the boy's system, then poured a purple elixir over the wound to clean it. It bubbled and hissed as it worked its way toward clear, and even with the painkiller he could see that Potter was uncomfortable.

' _Episkey_ ,' he said firmly, tapping his wand against the wound when the potion had finished its work. The cut sealed itself at once, a faint pink line the only evidence left behind. Potter sighed a little as the discomfort vanished.

'Another for the morning,' Severus said, passing over a second phial of pain reliever. 'I _shall know_ if you do not take it. And you're to see Madam Pomfrey if you develop a headache that stretches beyond mild discomfort, or any difficulty with your vision, do you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' Potter said quickly. 'Thank you.'

Severus rolled his eyes in reply. 'And you're certain that you do not have any ill effects from your dream?'

Potter shook his head. 'No, sir,' he replied, 'I'm just tired, is all.'

Severus nodded, satisfied for now. 'You do not show signs of a concussion,' he said, packing up his things. 'But no Dreamless Sleep tonight. If you _are_ suffering a latent head injury, it could put you into an irreversible coma. I can give you a calming draught, if you need to it fall asleep.'

Potter looked frightened by the prospect, quickly shaking his head. 'No, I think I'm alright now,' he insisted. Severus nodded.

'Very well then,' he said, dimming the common room lights once again. 'Both of you to bed now, and do _not_ let me catch you unaccompanied in the corridors again – whatever the hour. Potter – I am keeping this,' he said, lifting up the cloak.

'But – no! You can't, professor!' the child insisted in panic, jumping up and making a wild grab for the cloak.

Severus pulled it out of reach. He quickly used his other arm to steady the child, who'd overbalanced in his alarm and nearly toppled over. He looked a bit dazed through his horror, as Severus straightened him on his feet.

'You're quite sure you're alright?' he said in some concern, keeping his tight grip on the boy's upper arm.

'I'm _fine_ ,' Potter growled, trying to pull himself free. 'But that cloak was my dad's – you can't take it!'

'I can,' Severus insisted firmly. 'And I most certainly will. It is a dubious item for _any_ school-age wizard to own, let alone one as prone to troublemaking and trouble-seeking as you seem to be… and especially in a time like this.'

Potter flared up at once. 'I don't seek out trouble!' he bellowed. Severus quickly shot a muffling charm at the doors to both dormitories, before they were joined by more idiotic lions. 'Trouble always finds _me_!'

'It comes to the same thing, you fool!' he snarled, gripping the boy's arm still harder, his own voice rising now. 'And no matter how many times it is pounded into your thick head – you _cannot seem to grasp that reality_!'

But the boy was deflating rapidly now, losing both his rage and some of the colour in his cheeks. For a moment, Severus feared Potter was going to pass out again – as he had done that night in his study, when Severus had pushed him too far after one of these dreams. He mentally chided himself for his own hot temper.

Potter did not lose his feet, however. He merely looked at Severus – those arresting green eyes full of more sadness and despair than Severus had ever seen from the boy before.

'It's the only thing I have left of him, sir,' he said, very quietly. 'The only thing I have left of _either_ of them, really. I have a few photos… but nothing they have owned, or held, or touched. Nothing that was ever part of my family. Please – don't take that from me.'

Weasley was still sitting on the sofa, staring between the professor and pupil with terrified eyes. Severus worked very hard to keep a blank mask on his face, but he let his grip relax a fraction. In one part of his mind, he felt his own selfish thrill… something _Lily_ had touched… something _James Potter_ had prized… and it was in his own grasp now.

But so was the boy.

'I am not taking the cloak forever, Potter,' he said, trying to return his voice to some semblance of neutral. 'But I cannot allow you to have it while the situation with the Chamber remains unresolved. It is too dangerous, especially with Professor Dumbledore gone from the castle – and not only because I do not trust _you_ with it. While it remains here in the Tower, it is always possible that someone else could discover and use it. I shall hold it until the crisis resolves, or the headmaster returns. He can decide when it should be returned to you.'

The boy still looked crestfallen, but he recognised the defeat. Severus released his arm at last, feeling shaken himself from the tidal wave of emotions.

'It is late,' he said, straightening his robes and folding the invisibility cloak carefully over his arm. 'To bed at once.'

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Many thousands of miles away, Albus Dumbledore appeared in the blink of the eye, silent as the air around him in the still spring night. It was lucky that he himself had seen to it years ago that he would be able to apparate to this place without the trouble of international travel restriction – it would not do for any other to learn of his arrival.

He cast a disillusionment charm over himself, though it was hardly necessary. The late hour and moonless night provided plenty of protection, and even then this location was so deep in the Black Forest, and so heavily warded, that he rather doubted he'd run into many wandering men. Though he'd known he had to come, Albus felt a sense of deep foreboding and regret, as memories long supressed came flooding through his mind.

He had not been to this fortress for nearly fifty years.

He tried to steel himself as he approached the wrought iron gates. Unlike those at Hogwarts, these left Albus not with a sense of home and purpose but of deep, oppressive sadness. He gazed upon the words he knew so well – carved into the stone above; words he himself had once looked to as the ultimate wisdom. He shuddered.

Albus held a hand in front of him, and the gates swung inward to admit his entrance. He started the winding walk toward the building. Though the place was less than a century old, it had the derelict appearance of most deserted strongholds. The bricks were weathered and crumbling in places, leaving gaps in the walls. The long path from the gates was overgrown with brush that had creeped up over the stone in the many years it had gone untrodden and untended. Deep divots in the rolling hills of grass marked the spots where even Muggle warfare had once touched this place – and no wizard had bothered to level the marred park. The fortress itself was darkened and dead-looking, a flickering candle in the highest tower the only sign that life may yet exist within.

Albus made his way to the great front doors of the building. They were sturdy, even with the dilapidated state of the edifice, and their many iron fastenings presented a most unwelcome prospect. He placed both palms against the wood, murmuring in a long chant. The doors gave a slight shudder, then swung inward to reveal a cavernous black void of a front hall. They clanged shut with an ominous boom as Albus stepped through, leaving him in the darkness. He lit the tip of his wand with a wordless flick. Almost instantly, a loud crack indicated the arrival of the caretaker.

'Master Dumbledore,' said the tiny elf in a deep, croaky voice of German accent. He bowed so low that his pointed nose scraped the ground.

'Lakai,' Albus acknowledged, with an inclination of his own head. 'It has been many years. I trust you are keeping well?'

'Master Dumbledore is kind as ever he vas,' the elf said, straightening from his bend. 'Lakai is fine, sir. The vizard makes little trouble.'

Dumbledore nodded, already considering the stairs. 'He is upstairs; I take it?' he asked.

The house-elf nodded. 'As ever, Master.'

'And how has he been faring, Lakai?'

The little elf shrugged. 'He talks hardly at all, Master,' he said. 'Except in his sleep, some nights. He reads, or he vrites. Sometimes, he vill speak of you.'

'I am sure,' Dumbledore said heavily. 'I need to see him, Lakai. Will you give us some time privately, please? I should not be long.'

The elf inclined his head. 'Of course, Master Dumbledore,' he said. 'Vould you like Lakai to bring tea?'

'That would be pleasant,' Albus agreed, sparing the elf a small smile. 'I'll show myself up while you prepare it.' The elf bowed again, and disappeared with another crack to the basement kitchens.

Albus contemplated the long staircase once more. He could apparate himself to the tower, of course, but he was still half-dreading the moment of arrival, even though he'd resolved to make his visit last night. He chose the climb in part to procrastinate the meeting longer, holding his lit wand in front of him to avoid the occasional rotted step. As his feet led him farther and farther upward, the darkness seemed to close around him, until Albus could no longer see the entrance hall below.

He stepped off at the topmost landing, turning right down the ominous corridor to the tower entrance. The heels of his boots clicked his slowing stride against the stone floor, echoing off the shadowed walls of the many empty cells as he walked past. Most of the iron had started to rust in its bars, adding to the macabre aura of the place.

At last, he reached the door at the end of the passage. His wand seemed to be vibrating in his hand, already anticipating this encounter. The tip grew brighter. Albus mentally pulled the magic back, stemming the thrum in his fingertips. Mastering it.

He laid his palm on this door as well, and felt the lock click open for him. The door swung outward slowly, and he climbed one final, spiralling staircase. As he reached the last barrier he doused the wand light, placing the instrument carefully in an inside pocket of his robes. He took one final breath, and spelled the entry ajar.

An emaciated man sat in a small wooden chair at the little desk in the tower's corner, reading a thick and ancient-looking tome by the light of a solitary, flickering candle. He was barefoot, and wrapped in a tattered dressing gown. His brilliant gold hair had faded to grey in the intervening years, and his shoulders held the slump of an aged man long-defeated. But when he turned to face his visitor, the man's violet eyes bore the same gleam and intensity that Albus so well remembered.

'So, you have come,' the man said, piercing Albus with those pinning eyes.

His voice was rougher and thinner than Albus remembered, but perfectly steady. If he was surprised to see the headmaster on the threshold, it did not show.

'I thought, one day, you might return,' the man said, spinning farther in his chair so that he and Albus were facing each other more fully.

He brought the tips of his fingers together against his chin, cocking his head as he considered his caller. The irony of the familiar gesture was not lost on Albus… who wondered, fleetingly, whether he himself had subconsciously adapted this position for his own, or whether the wizened man was copying Albus's mannerisms to goad.

'The Great Saviour of Old… but why now, I wonder? Perhaps he needs some assistance to save the Saviour of Present? His apprentice, it seems, if the rumours are to be believed… Perhaps he is growing desperate… and he has come to seek guidance from the fallen, to fell a new threat? Perhaps… he comes for the Greater Good, at last.'

Albus held his gaze, trying to project a confidence and control he did not feel – had never really felt – in this wizard's presence. He did not respond at once, but withdrew his wand again. The man's eyes snapped to it in an instant, but Albus did not turn the wand on his companion. Instead, he swept it through the air, conjuring himself a chintz purple armchair. He sat, a good distance from the wizard, crossing his legs and stowing the wand again. He saw the man's eyes follow its disappearance into the folds of his robes.

'Good evening, Gellert,' he said, quietly.


	25. Shades of Darkness

**DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 25: Shades of Darkness**

'Albus,' Gellert Grindelwald acknowledged, inclining his head. 'So many years it has been… are you older and wiser now, my sometime friend? Have the years and the power been kind to you? Or do you find the burden is too much to bear?'

'I am well enough, thank you, Gellert,' Albus answered. He was careful to keep his face neutral; his shields intact. Even wandless and imprisoned, _this_ wizard was among the most powerful ever to grace the earth. Albus must not show weakness.

'And yet, you are here,' Grindelwald pointed out shrewdly. 'And I notice you leave my questions unanswered. Why is it that you have come, Albus? Surely you are not hoping to wax nostalgic.'

'Indeed not,' Albus said. 'It was not an easy decision to visit this night.'

'I imagine it wasn't,' Grindelwald acknowledged, leaning back a little in his seat. 'So let us not beat about the bush, Albus. You have come about the Dark Lord, have you not?'

Albus sat back against his own chair, trying to give the appearance of one at ease and relaxed. He was sure it would not fool the old mage before him… but it alleviated his own mind a bit.

'I have,' he confirmed. 'Tell me – what do you know of Tom Riddle?'

'Not near as much as you, I am sure,' said Grindelwald. 'After all, I have been caged here for the past half-century… I have seen no other wizard since you left me in this tower, nor do I have the ability to correspond. My only company is that insipid house-elf. How could I have anything to offer?'

'Ah,' said Albus with a small smile. 'But that is not quite true, is it Gellert?' he asked pleasantly. 'You receive the news, do you not? And I am quite sure you are capable of keeping up with the goings on outside this fortress as ever you were – even if, perhaps, you have been restricted in your ability to influence them.'

Grindelwald cocked his head, considering. His violet eyes seemed to pierce through Albus again, and the headmaster reinforced his practised shields. 'Perhaps,' he allowed, with a half-smile of his own. He leaned forward a little.

'Let us say, for the moment, that I have some knowledge of this Lord Voldemort. Surely, even then, you would be privy to much more than I. That does not answer why you would see a need to come here, of all places… And laying that aside, the Dark Lord was vanquished, was he not? By your precious Golden Child…'

'Vanquished, perhaps,' Albus agreed. 'But hardly with permanence, I fear. You know as well as I that Lord Voldemort lives still, and that he searches, ceaselessly, for his path to return to power.'

'Of course he does,' scoffed Grindelwald, with an indifferent wave of his hand. 'But what does that matter, in the now? Surely you have people on the lookout, surrounding wherever it is that he has sought refuge? And as yet, he has not succeeded.'

'Only just,' Albus confided. 'He was very close this time last year, when he made an attempt to secure the philosopher's stone that once belonged to Nicholas Flamel.'

'A fool if ever there was one,' Grindelwald spat with contempt. 'To trust one's immortality to an elixir… prolonging life, perhaps, but little else. Immortality is not measured by the length of one's existence but by the legacy of that life – as you well know. _True_ immortality is what you leave behind in this world, however long you grace its earth. The strength of your convictions. The expanse of your power. Your impact on the magical world. You understood these things, once.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed quietly, struck again by the inherent wisdom this man possessed – though they came at the idea from very different places, now. 'I understand them still. But it is not what Voldemort was seeking from the stone, I expect. He only sought the elixir to regain a physical form.'

'But your child thwarted that plot,' Grindelwald said shrewdly. 'And if I have ever known you, you saw to it that the stone can never be used again.'

'My student,' Albus corrected. 'Harry is my student. And yes, I convinced Nicholas that the Stone would have to be destroyed.'

'The Potter boy _is_ yours, Albus,' Grindelwald disagreed. 'Ward… apprentice… student - whatever title you wish to put on it. It makes no difference. _You_ will train him, hone him, turn him into whatever weapon you see fit. His very life will rest in your graces – his success or failure at your feet. Or is that not why you brought him to the castle last summer?'

At that moment, Lakai reappeared with a tray of tea and biscuits. This was lucky, perhaps, as Albus had been so thrown by the knowledge Grindelwald had just imparted that he was momentarily unable to come up with a response. Instead, he busied himself playing mother, thanking the house-elf before he departed and pouring a cup of tea for each of them. Grindelwald took his with an inclination of his head. Albus had remembered, even after so many years; two sugars and a dash of milk.

'My dealings with Harry have no bearing on this conversation,' Albus said firmly. He didn't feel the desire or need to defend his feelings toward Harry to this man. Nor, frankly, did he think that giving Grindelwald knowledge as to any potential weakness would be particularly wise. 'Though I am curious as to how you acquired your information.'

Grindelwald smirked. 'As you so rightly surmised, Albus, I am not so blind to the happenings of the world as you would have me. I keep busy enough.'

Albus was slightly disquieted, and he knew the wizard could tell. His smirk grew wider.

'Wards are a funny thing, Albus… porous and fluid, like all magic, no matter the caster. They keep me in, of course, but they do not keep everything out that you would imagine. Fifty years is a long time to brood in solitude. I must find ways to pass the hours.'

'Quite,' said Albus, choosing to leave it there for now. 'But still – a separate, though related subject… what do you know of Lord Voldemort?'

Grindelwald sipped at his tea, seeming to consider. Albus could tell that he was rather enjoying the conversation, but also that he was loathe to give his information freely, not knowing to what the headmaster might already be privy.

'I know that he was a student at your school, years ago, when I myself was the most powerful and feared sorcerer on the Continent. I know that his true name is Tom Riddle. I know, roughly, the story of his rise to prominence. I know, of course, that he was defeated by a mere _child_ – Harry Potter – who was little more than a year old at the time. And I know that the child now bears the mark of the killing curse, and the eyes of most of our kind in your country. As to the dark wizard's whereabouts… I know only that he has hidden away these eleven some years, and that he made an unsuccessful attempt to return to power last year, as we have already discussed. And I know that he seeks the destruction of Harry Potter above all else.'

A fairly thorough, if undetailed, understanding then, Albus mused. He wondered if Grindelwald was aware that Voldemort had sought sanctuary in the mountains where he himself had grown up, or why. He hesitated a moment, unsure if he should reveal that much… but though the sorcerer may have access to information outside the deliveries of news that Albus had sanctioned, the professor thought it unlikely his wards had weakened enough to allow Grindelwald to communicate his _own_ information beyond the walls of the fortress. In any case, he would be sure to reinforce them before he departed tonight.

'Are you aware that Lord Voldemort currently resides in the forests of Deravica?'

Grindelwald raised an eyebrow. 'I had not heard… but how intriguing. I suppose I should be flattered. But the Heir of Slytherin, a Ravenclaw? Now, that _is_ an interesting development. I would have assumed he was of the House of the Serpent.'

Albus frowned in puzzlement. 'I never said he was in Ravenclaw,' he said in confusion. 'Tom Riddle was a Slytherin, and – as you seem to know – the only remaining heir of Salazar Slytherin himself.'

Now Grindelwald looked confused. 'Then it is an odd coincidence,' he said, slowly, 'that he should chose Deravica for his hideaway.'

'A coincidence?' Albus said sharply. 'What do you mean?'

Grindelwald smirked again, giving Albus an incredulous look. 'But you are the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus!' he said, mockingly. 'Surely _you_ know the tale of how the mountains got their name – why they are, in fact, "accursed"?'

Albus slowly shook his head. 'I'm afraid I do not,' he admitted. 'I have heard only that the name was given to the area long ago; almost a thousand years, it is said. I assumed it was a reference to the many vampire clans and the rumours of dark magic. You would know much more of this than I.'

'Ah,' said Grindelwald, siting back again and fingering the rim of his teacup. He sent the pot to refill it with a careless wave of his hand. Albus noted that the wandless gesture seemed quite natural. 'Well, this _is_ a stimulating conversation. You see, Albus, the vampire clans… the werewolves… even the darkness itself – they were drawn to the forest because blood had been spilt in its woods.'

Albus shrugged. 'A common enough phenomenon,' he said dismissively. 'Vampires tend to hunt where fresh blood has stained the ground, as do werewolves who live on the outskirts of society. If the bloodshed was born of anger, the place would serve well for rituals of the oldest dark magic. It does explain the rumours of the forest, but I do not see how Hogwarts has a part in it.'

'Hogwarts figures heavily in the tale. It was not just any bloodshed, Albus,' said Grindelwald. His voice had lost some of its bitterness, slipping into the cadence of excited academic fervour that had united the two of them in their youth – before things had gone so horribly sideways. The familiarity of the situation deepened Albus's unease.

'It was murder of the highest and most damnable order – the killing of a woman beloved, by the man who cherished her. And the suicide, or so they say, of the lover in the aftermath. Unrequited love, murder, death, grief… a veritable breeding ground for darkness and evil, especially in the old magics. It calls like a siren song to the creatures of shadows, even after all this time. And the woman… the stories in the villages say she was the child of your founder, Rowena Ravenclaw, come to the mountains to hide from her kin.'

Albus frowned. It was a puzzle indeed, if the stories were true. He knew, of course, that Helena Ravenclaw had died an unhappy death, and that she had deserted her mother. But he had never known she fled to Albania, or that she'd met her death at the hands of a lover. Nor did he have any clue how Tom Riddle – a Slytherin with little interest in the emotions of others and very few ties outside of Britain – would have gleaned the information. But, did it even matter? Perhaps Lord Voldemort's choice of the forest was unrelated to the ancient tale; the reputation of the accursed mountains was not a secret and, whatever its origins, the mountains' propensity for dark magic and dark creatures would have been lure enough, he was certain.

'Very interesting,' he allowed, taking a swallow of his own tea. The brew had chilled a bit as he listened to Grindelwald's soliloquy, and he waved his hand over the top of the cup to heat it. He would avoid using the wand again, if he could.

'But not what you came here for,' put in Grindelwald. He selected a biscuit from the little tray, taking a small bite. Albus noticed that he was missing several teeth. He closed his eyes in apparent appreciation. 'The elf clearly puts more effort in when I have a guest,' he noted sardonically. 'You ought to drop by more often.' Albus frowned, and the wizard gave a mirthless laugh. 'What is it you truly seek, Albus? You must have had some further purpose, if you thought information from me was worth the journey and the memories.'

Albus inclined his head again, trying to determine how to phrase his inquiry. At last, he said, 'Tom Riddle is, as you apparently know, the only Heir of Slytherin. I told you once, many years ago, of a hidden chamber that legend states Slytherin had built within the castle. I looked into it during my days as a student at Hogwarts, and again later when I became a professor at the school. I never discovered its location.'

'I remember the story,' said Grindelwald. 'As I also remember that the legend proved true.'

'Indeed,' Albus continued. 'Tom Riddle opened the Chamber of Secrets while he was at Hogwarts, though he was never linked to the crime. Several students were attacked, and one girl killed. That was in 1943.'

'And you think it has happened again,' said Grindelwald, correctly jumping to Albus's conclusion.

'I do,' said Albus. 'In fact, I am certain of it. Earlier this year the Chamber was reopened, and several students have since been attacked. Their injuries bear too exact a resemblance to the attacks of the last occurrence for any other explanation to be at all likely. What intrigues and concerns me, however, is that there is no possibility that Tom Riddle could be responsible – at least not directly – as he remains clearly in Deravica, and has since last July.'

Grindelwald shrugged. 'Tom Riddle cannot be the only brilliant child inclined toward dark magic ever to attend your school, Albus,' he reasoned. 'It seems most likely that another has simply learned to operate the Chamber, and continued with Voldemort's purpose.'

But Albus shook his head. 'I doubt it is that straight-forward,' he said. 'The legend is that Slytherin enchanted the Chamber so that none but his true heir could open it. Perhaps some sort of blood magic… or a similar barrier. Even assuming that others have attempted the feat, no student has ever successfully utilised the Chamber of Secrets _but_ Tom Riddle – and we have, of course, educated many brilliant and powerful witches and wizards over the last thousand years… myself among them, if you'll forgive a lack of modesty in this.'

Grindelwald scoffed. 'You are brilliant, Albus,' he allowed, 'But – forgive me – your magic has always been hampered by your insatiable sense of morality. This always was your greatest weakness, and even I could not pull you past it.'

'In that,' Dumbledore said heavily, 'I think we shall have to agree to disagree, Gellert. I am neither as pure nor as immune to temptation as you seem to assume. And I would never stoop to consider conscience a weakness.'

Grindelwald shook his head. 'Conscience,' he disagreed, 'is a fluid and variable thing, Albus. Though there are undoubtedly many who would protest, I would not consider _myself_ as lacking a conscience, though my definitions of what is permissible or necessary vary greatly from your own. But that is neither here nor there, is it? As to the Chamber…' he trailed off, apparently considering. 'I still think it possible that another has succeeded in opening it, though I recognise your objections. It would be someone with a likeness to Tom Riddle, or to Slytherin… perhaps a similarity of magic.'

He paused, giving Albus a once over. 'Tell me,' he said, 'what is your Harry Potter like?'

Albus tensed immediately. He realised, of course, what Grindelwald was getting at… though the wizard could have no idea why his words had so deep an effect on Albus. Because there _were_ many similarities between Harry and Tom Riddle: the parseltongue, the talent, even – to some degree – their appearances. And, of course, there was the prophecy… the Dark Lord had 'marked' Harry as his equal. But equal, Albus reasoned, was not the same as identical. Harry's magic was not Tom's magic – it was the counterweight.

'Harry is a powerful young wizard,' he answered carefully. 'with a talent for defensive magic in particular. He is a kind and good-hearted child, who values the lives of others above his own. He is brave, and sometimes reckless, but always well-meaning. And there is not a shred of darkness in his soul. He is nothing like Tom Riddle.'

Grindelwald smirked again. 'I never said he was,' he pointed out. 'But it is a curious thing… this chamber opens only twice in over a thousand years – once when Tom Riddle attends the school, and once when Harry Potter arrives. Coincidence, Albus, very rarely occurs in nature. You know this.'

'Oh, I never considered it to be chance,' Albus countered lightly. 'I am certain Harry's presence in the school has affected events of late.'

Grindelwald was eying him shrewdly. 'So if not your Golden Boy then… another child.'

'Perhaps,' Albus allowed. 'But I am still doubtful. I think it most probable that Tom Riddle has influenced another to open the Chamber on his behalf. And yet, if I am right that the Chamber requires Slytherin blood or Slytherin's magical signature to open, then mere influence seems unlikely to be enough.'

'If it is _not_ Tom Riddle,' Grindelwald reasoned, 'then blood is almost certainly not the method of entry. Most blood magic requires fresh sacrifice, and stored blood – even under statis – loses its magical signature quite quickly,' he mused aloud.

Albus did not answer, though he agreed. It was the main reason why wizard healers utilised blood replenishing potions, which quickly multiplied a wizard's own blood: stored blood did not maintain its magic, and directed donation from another wizard was likely to cause catastrophic complications, as magical signatures were unique and usually incompatible if mixed.

'Slytherin's magic…' Grindelwald continued, still thinking aloud. 'That would likely mean that the Chamber is sealed by parseltongue. Slytherin was one of the most prolific parselmouths ever born, and the gift is both exceedingly rare and usually genetic. And of course, Voldemort possesses the ability.' He spared a glance over at Albus again. 'As does Harry Potter, if my information is correct.'

Albus was surprised again by the wizard's knowledge, but merely inclined his head in acknowledgment. 'I am certain, however, that Harry is not responsible for the attacks,' he reiterated. 'Even were I less sanguine in my own convictions, I have personal knowledge of his whereabouts during at least two of the incidents – and he was not the perpetrator of either crime.'

Grindelwald shrugged again. 'I am merely pointing out the facts, Albus,' he said. 'What of your other students?'

Albus shook his head. 'No other parselmouths that I know of,' he said. 'Of course, it is possible that there are other students with the gift… but I rather doubt it. It isn't a talent that usually goes unnoticed for long. I was surprised we had not learned that Harry possessed the skill before this year.'

Grindelwald set aside his empty teacup, looking pensive. 'An interesting predicament,' he admitted. Albus could tell that the intellectual stimulation excited him. Gellert had always loved a puzzle.

'So,' Grindelwald continued, 'You believe this individual must be somehow in contact with Tom Riddle, to have learned how to open the Chamber of Secrets and – presumably – control its monster?'

'Yes,' Albus said. 'Though I cannot imagine how we would have missed such contact. It would have to be continuous, I expect, or particularly detailed. I am frankly doubtful another could even manage the task at all… but there is no possibility that Voldemort has possessed another wizard since his flight at the end of last term.'

Grindelwald seemed momentarily stymied, but then he suddenly stilled. 'Are you _quite_ sure, Albus?' he asked, in a low voice. 'Are you positive that there is no other possibility – no avenue he may have taken to possess another?'

'I –'

But Albus froze too, suddenly apprehensive. Grindelwald gave a dark smirk again.

'There are magics,' he said. 'The darkest of magics… ways to allow for possession of a soul other than what you have suggested. You must have considered it already – when the Dark Lord failed to die the night he attacked your boy.'

'I have considered it,' Albus allowed. 'It is, I admit, the only thing that makes sense. He was ripped from his body into shadows… but he is not dead. It would not be possible, unless his soul were chained to the earth by other means.'

Grindelwald nodded. 'He has killed often enough to do it,' he reasoned. 'A hundredfold over. And he would know the spell, of course. He has chased his paltry echo of immortality with more commitment than any I have ever known.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'I am sure he had created one before his excursion to Godric's Hollow. That is how he survived that night. But surely, if he did, it would be hidden in utmost secrecy and protection. The idea that it could fall into the hands of a student… where anyone, where _I_ , might find and destroy it… that seems much too careless for Tom Riddle.'

'Perhaps…' said Grindelwald, picking at a dirty fingernail. 'It is not a path I myself would have considered. But had I done so, I would have been certain to guard my treasure with far more care. Then again, we are considering that he had only one.'

Albus felt a thrill of horror rise again up his spine.

'What do you mean, only one?' he echoed in a low voice. 'Surely not…'

Grindelwald stopped picking at his nails, fixing Albus again with that violet stare. 'It is hardly a novel innovation, Albus,' he reminded the headmaster. 'As revolting as it may be to your precious morality, it is a dark art most entrenched in wizard history, though admittedly less well-known in current times. Many wizards before Tom Riddle have created a chain to the earth, and succeeded – for a time, at least. I have never heard of a sorcerer so determined to evade Death that he sought to bind his soul by more than one safeguard… but it is certainly possible in theory.'

Albus nodded pensively. But still, he was disquieted.

'Of course,' Grindelwald went on, 'The use of such an artefact as a weapon… that is most unusual. Possession would be possible – the portion of soul would be dangerous to any who became too close… too vulnerable. But that is usually a facet of the magic designed to protect the object, if it should fall into unfriendly hands. To actively allow such possession suggests it was created for this purpose, which in turn tends to prove it could not have been Voldemort's only creation, or he would most certainly have shown more care with its protection. Surely he would have considered that you would discover the culprit, eventually.'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'Though I doubt Voldemort himself engineered its use at the school this year, if indeed that is how the Chamber has been opened… there is no indication that he has had contact with anyone, and I rather doubt he would risk discovery of his secret while he himself is in so precarious a state.'

'No,' Grindelwald seconded. 'I doubt he would approve.'

Albus was silent for the moment, staring out over the detritus of their strange late-night tea. 'I think it is time that I left,' he said at last, moving to stand from the chair. 'This has been a most illuminating conversation – I thank you.'

Grindelwald frowned. Albus could tell that he did not much relish his return to solitude. 'You had nothing further to discuss?' he pressed.

'Not at this time, no,' said Albus.

Grindelwald nodded and, for the first time since Albus had entered the room, pulled himself from his wooden chair. The intervening years and lack of freedom seemed to have affected him greatly; though he and Albus could not have been more than a year or two apart in age, Albus felt quite spry indeed when he saw how Grindelwald faltered on his feet, his stance stooped. Still, the two wizards were of almost identical height, and Albus found that the violet eyes were level with his own as Grindelwald seemed to consider him carefully.

'I have ample time on my hands at present,' he observed sarcastically. 'It is possible that I could do some… research, into this particular issue, should you desire it.'

Albus hesitated. He did not trust this man, who could so often guess and conjecture too near truths he had no business possessing. In many ways, he despised him. And speaking with Grindelwald now, even after so much time had passed, had left Albus with doubt in his own abilities that he had not experienced in decades – reminded him of his limitations, his weaknesses. The feeling was not enjoyable.

But he remembered Aberforth's words; the reason he had come to Nurmengard tonight. His brother was correct. Grindelwald was a resource. And he should utilise him… for Hogwarts, and for Harry.

 _For the Greater Good_ , said a bitter voice inside his head.

Albus refused it acknowledgement.

'That may be useful,' he answered at last. 'I shall speak with Lakai. Perhaps we can set up an arrangement to correspond, for this purpose alone, of course.'

Grindelwald gave a half-smile. 'I don't think so,' he said, with a shake of his head. 'Correspondence, you see, is a very dull way to keep a conversation. It can be intercepted as well, as you know. And, I must confess, I am growing a little weary of my solitude. I think perhaps I will agree to this – arrangement – on one condition. You will visit, and we shall discuss the information in person.'

 _Like some perverse imitation of king holding court_ , Albus thought. He was unsurprised at the caveat, however. He had hardly expected less.

'I will see what I can arrange,' he said, giving an inclination of his head. 'Until we meet again.'

And he swept from the room, feeling the weight of those violet eyes watching his progress through the door.

They both knew he would return.

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Harry woke the next morning to someone shaking his shoulder roughly. 'Wassup?' he said groggily, turning toward the disturber.

'Get up, mate,' Ron hissed urgently. 'We're going to be late for McGonagall if you don't get a move on.'

Harry groaned. His head was still slightly sore from the night before, and his mind felt heavy with lack of sleep and churning thoughts. He'd much rather skip breakfast and have a bit of a lie-in… but, with the new security rules at the castle, the students were forced to file into the Great Hall together each morning with their Heads of House.

'Alright, alright,' he grumbled, throwing back his blankets and forcing himself off the mattress.

He spied the little phial of pain reliever that Snape had given him the night before, and knocked it back with a grimace. He didn't want to hear it if Snape found out he hadn't… and it did ease the residual ache in his skull. Ron, still muttering about the time, tossed Harry's school robes onto the bed beside him. But Harry did not move to put them on.

As his brain kicked into gear again, the events of the previous night came flooding back…. And, quite suddenly, Harry had a flash of blinding realisation.

'Ron,' he said quietly.

Ron, who was now busy stuffing glossy Lockhart books into Harry's school bag for him, did not seem to hear.

' _Ron_!' he tried again, more insistently. Ron looked up from _Travels with Trolls_ in confusion, then gaped, horrified, at Harry's unmoving form.

'Harry!' he groaned. 'What are you doing? Come _on_! We've only got two minutes!'

'Ron – listen,' Harry said, glancing quickly around the dormitory. There were no other stragglers beside themselves. 'You remember what Aragog said last night – about the girl who was killed?'

'Yeah…' Ron said with a shudder. 'But what does th–'

'Aragog said she died in a _lavatory_.' Harry said. 'Well, what if she never left that bathroom?'

And Ron suddenly got it. 'You mean, you think the monster's victim was _Moaning Myrtle_?' he asked, looking excited.

'Exactly!' said Harry.

Ron shook his head in annoyance. 'All those weeks we were right there – and we never even _thought_ to ask her!' he said. 'Do you think we ought to –'

'Harry! Ron!' came another voice on the stairs. Neville burst into the room moments later, pink-faced and breathless. He stared between them in confusion, taking in Harry's pyjamas and their tense expressions.

'Er – are you ill, Harry?' he asked. Harry shook his head, reaching quickly for his clothes.

'Then you had better hurry up – McGonagall's waiting in the Common room and she says we can't go without you… she's not feeling very patient this morning, I don't think.'

Harry and Ron spent most of History of Magic debating the possibility that Moaning Myrtle might have been the monster of Slytherin's ultimate victim. They really wanted to talk to her about it directly, but they couldn't see how they might get away from the teachers to do it. Now that Harry had lost the invisibility cloak, they could hardly risk sneaking around in the night, and their professors had to accompany them everywhere they went outside the common room. Without Hermione, there was hardly a chance of getting an escort to the first floor girls' lavatory.

In the meantime, they tried to focus on what could be within the Chamber itself. Harry thought the best place to start would be the library, now they had something to go off of with their information from Aragog. McGonagall regularly took students wanting to research or work in the library from the common room each evening, so they joined the queue every night after dinner, staying as late as Madam Pince would allow. The trouble was, deciding how to go about _finding_ the information they sought was exceedingly difficult. All they really knew was that the creature was ancient and that the massive spiders were afraid of it.

After nearly four weeks of searching, Harry was able to discover that the spiders were probably acromantulas – a species of rare, giant spider usually native to Southeast Asia, where they inhabited the dense rainforests in the jungle. He'd found the entry on the creature in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ … but while the description certainly matched the colossal spiders he and Ron had narrowly escaped, there was no indication of any monster who was feared by the acromantulas. Nor could they find any mention of such a phenomenon in any other book they'd checked, though he and Ron had been right through half the section on magical creatures by the end of April. There was a brief citation for 'spider' in the index of _Most Macabre Monsters_ that pointed the reader to page 724, but when Harry flipped to the indicated page, he found that a previous reader had torn it from the tome. Acromantulas themselves were not mentioned in the book, as it had been authored in 1786 and apparently the acromantula was not discovered until the 1790s.

Harry wished that Hagrid were still around to ask. Even if the gamekeeper hadn't been able to figure out what the monster was from the information Aragog had been willing to share, he could probably give them some idea of where to start. Hagrid knew more about dangerous beasts than anyone Harry had ever met. He was also fairly certain that Dumbledore would have been able to tell them more… but he hadn't seen or spoken to the headmaster since he'd left the school. Even if he _was_ able to contact him, Harry was pretty sure that Dumbledore would know exactly what he and Ron had done if Harry asked him about acromantulas, and he knew Dumbledore would not be happy. He also thought about approaching one of the other teachers – perhaps McGonagall, or even Snape – but he couldn't think of a logical reason he would give to inquire, and he suspected Snape was already suspicious of their activities. He and Ron were in agreement on that point – though Ron thought Harry's cover story the night they'd snuck out had been absolutely brilliant.

'I just don't get it,' Harry said, as he and Ron headed from the Great Hall into Transfiguration on the first of May. 'Aragog as much as said the monster was their mortal enemy… we should be able to find _some_ reference to it!'

'I know,' Ron agreed. 'I really miss Hermione at a time like this.'

Harry agreed. He _really_ missed Hermione – and not just because he knew she'd be much better at their research project than he and Ron. Every evening felt hollow without her presence in the common room.

At least there hadn't been any further attacks. Throughout the weeks that followed the one on Hermione and Penelope Clearwater, Harry was certain there would be an attack a day. But the new security measures at the school seemed to be working, at least in that regard. Though they were living under almost military rule, nobody else had ended up petrified… or dead.

Other aspects of life were improving for Harry too. To his great relief, it seemed most of the student body had decided he was _not_ the Heir of Slytherin, despite his ability to speak parseltongue. Nobody thought it at all likely that he would attack his best friend – well, nobody except Malfoy, who was still trying to convince the school that Harry had done it to throw suspicion from himself. Ernie MacMillan, who had been among the most active in opposing Harry's reign of supposed terror, formally offered his apology to Harry in their shared Herbology lesson the week after Hermione had been petrified, and the Weasley twins stopped having to divert nasty rumours as the Gryffindors swept down the corridors. Harry would have been quite happy with the thawing of the tension, if he wasn't still so worried about finding the attacker, freeing Hagrid from the clutches of the Ministry, waking Hermione and bringing Dumbledore back to the castle.

Instead, he continued to pour through the library with Ron every evening, battling his continued anxiety, and hoping that they would find something to go off.

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Minerva was feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks as she pushed open the wooden door to the Hog's Head halfway through the last week of May. There had not been any additional attacks at the school in nearly two months, and they would soon be able to unpetrify the victims of Slytherin's monster.

'Good afternoon, Aberforth,' she greeted the barman with a smile as she crossed the floor.

'Radiant as ever, Minnie,' Aberforth said with a roguish wink, gesturing toward a seat in the corner of the bar. Minerva gave a light laugh.

'Is he in?' she asked.

'Just finishing up on the floo. He should be down in a mo,' Aberforth said. 'A drink?'

'Just tea, I think. I only have an hour or so before I have to be back at the castle for dinner.'

Aberforth nodded, summoning a fresh pot. Minerva sipped at the brew in quiet contentment, waiting for Albus to arrive. He was not long in coming.

'Apologies, my dear,' he said, striding up behind her and kissing her lightly on the top of the head. 'I'm afraid my conversation with Remus took longer than I had anticipated.'

'No matter, Albus,' she said, as he took the seat to her left. 'How is he settling in?'

Albus sighed. 'As well as we could expect, I believe. He has taken a small cottage in Aberdeen for now, though if I can convince him to take the post, he will not need to maintain alternate housing for long, which should help his finances. Things are not as easy in Britain as they were in Germany, I'm afraid. It may be difficult for Remus to find employment elsewhere, and he absolutely refuses to take any assistance.'

Minerva frowned. 'Were you not assisting him while he was in Albania?'

'Yes,' Albus agreed. 'But in that case, he was doing necessary work for our cause. Now that he has returned, he feels it would be improper to accept additional help. I disagree, naturally, as it was only on my insistence that he returned to Scotland at all. And, of course, I would offer him assistance freely in any case. But he will not acquiesce.'

'You are at an impasse, then,' Minerva observed. 'But at least if he takes the position, you've only another month or so to worry.'

'Assuming I can convince him to do it,' Albus reminded her. 'He is not as sure as I that the necessary precautions can be set in place to assure the students' safety. And, of course, this all assumes we do not need to close the school at the end of term.'

Minerva smiled now. 'I have good news on that score, Albus,' she said. 'Pomona came to me this morning – the mandrakes will be ready for cutting by tomorrow evening. We should be able to revive everyone who has been petrified, and perhaps one of them will have information on who – or what – put them in that state.'

Albus beamed back at her. 'That _is_ excellent news, my dear,' he said. 'Although I am not confident that the victims will know what has happened to them… the previous victims were unable to give any details. Still, it is certainly a cause for celebration! You must order a feast for the students – they will need the boost, I expect.'

Minerva rolled her eyes. 'Already taken care of, Albus,' she said. 'I have worked long enough under your guidance to recognise the need as well. With any luck, you will be able to join us in the celebration before long.' She gave him a little smile.

'Any word from the school governors?' she asked. 'They have not actively sought to replace you thus far, I note.'

Albus shook his head. 'Nothing yet,' he acknowledged. 'Though I suspect, from my limited discussions with a few of the board members, that the decision may not have been quite so unanimous as it appears.'

Minerva scoffed. 'Hardly a surprise,' she noted contemptuously.

'Yes, well,' said Albus delicately. 'I am sure it will all unravel itself in due course.'

Minerva, who rather thought Albus ought to be taking a more active role in discovering and exposing Malfoy's ridiculous vendetta, pursed her lips at the response but chose not to comment. Albus seemed to sense her displeasure. He gently stroked her hand.

'You are doing wonderfully, Minerva,' he said earnestly, gazing into her eyes. 'I could not have hoped to leave Hogwarts in better hands.'

Minerva shrugged him off, slightly mollified but annoyed nonetheless. She consulted the time as an excuse to look away. To her surprise, her hour was nearly up. 'Was there anything else you wanted to discuss? I ought to get back up to the castle shortly.'

Albus nodded, glancing at his own odd watch. 'Not in particular,' he said. 'Unless you have anything further on the issue we spoke on before?'

Minerva shook her head. 'No, Albus,' she said. 'I have checked, as have the other Heads of House. But if there is some sort of dark artefact of You-Know-Who's in the possession of one of the students, it is well-hidden.' Albus nodded, seemingly to himself, looking deep in contemplation. Minerva laid a hand over his arm on the counter. 'You still refuse to tell me what this is all about?'

Albus gave her a weak smile. 'It is nothing to trouble you with, Minnie,' he assured her, though Minerva thought she could hear distress beneath the soothing words. 'Only an old man's hunch – and perhaps nothing at all. I do thank you for taking a look, of course.'

Minerva nodded, though she dearly wanted to press the point. She gathered her lightweight travelling cloak from the stool beside her, swinging it over her shoulders.

'I suppose I shall head back now, then,' she said, leaning in to kiss Albus's cheek. 'With any luck, things shall return to normal by this time next week.'

'We can certainly hope,' Albus agreed, giving her a ghost of a smile.

Minerva stood at the head of the table in the Great Hall an hour later, smiling down at the sea of students as she announced the news. The Hall – which had been particularly sullen and unhappy in the wake of her reminder earlier that week that they would be sitting their exams as usual from the following Monday – erupted at once in whistles and cheers, students thumping each other on the back and banging their cutlery against the table in their enthusiasm. Severus scowled his displeasure at the ruckus beside her, but Minerva – for once – thoroughly approved of the boisterous chaos.

They had had precious little to celebrate for many months.

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The following evening, Albus Dumbledore was just seating himself to dinner with Aberforth when a silver cat streaked into the sitting room. He eyed it warily as it came to a halt in front of him, opening its mouth to speak in Minerva's voice. The cat spoke only one line, in a desperate tone of panic, before dissipating into silver mist:

' _Albus, you must come at once_.'


	26. Il y a un Serpent Caché sous des Fleurs

**A/N:** Ok… so I have decided to post Chapter 26 now (I just couldn't wait to finish it, though I _really_ need to be doing work this week). Unfortunately, it's quite likely you'll have to wait until the end of the week for the next instalment, so please do try not to hate me too much for the cliff-hanger.

Thank you for all the great reviews and responses from last time! A few I wanted to answer…

 **babascoop** : Yes, I do think Harry will have a chance to meet him… I've already mapped out how/why that may occur, though I think it will not be for a while (not in this particular book). Grindelwald is _so_ fun to write though – and I agree, there's a lot of possibility here to develop a character that we didn't get to meet until quite late in canon. I'm glad you enjoyed the visit!

 **AECM** (in reply to Chapter 24): I'm glad you enjoyed that reaction – it was something I really loved writing. Severus's feelings on the invisibility cloak / Harry's lack of possessions from his parents will make a return… I had originally intended to include the particular passage where that happens before we got down to the Chamber – but it didn't quite fit with that particular part of the story when I had fleshed it out. So we will see it either near the end of this story or possibly at the beginning of the sequel, depending on how it flows.

One final **note** on Chapter 26: The title of this chapter is a French proverb. Its direct translation is 'There is a snake hidden under the flowers,' but most English readers will be more familiar with the translation from the German version: 'Look before you Leap, for Snakes among sweet flowers do Creep.'

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 26: Il y a un Serpent Caché sous des Fleurs**

Harry and Ron were as ecstatic about McGonagall's announcement as the rest of the school, cheering right along with the Gryffindors as the Great Hall celebrated.

'It won't matter that we couldn't ask Myrtle, then,' Ron said happily from Harry's right. 'Hermione will probably have all the answers when they wake her up.'

'Too bad we'll have to tell her she's got to sit exams in three days though,' Harry observed. Ron frowned.

'Yeah…' he said. 'You know, maybe we ought to tell McGonagall to leave her like that until they're over – might be kinder, really.'

Harry laughed. He was so busy enjoying the revelry that he nearly missed the light tap at his elbow. He turned as the gesture was repeated, and found himself nearly nose-to-nose with a very white faced Ginny Weasley.

'What is it, Ginny?' he asked her, concerned. Ginny rarely sought him out, since it might involve talking to him. Her face was pale with fright, and her eyes darted around the Great Hall in apparent distrust.

'I need to tell you something,' she said, very quietly. Ron, who had just noticed Harry's distraction, poked his head around to stare at Ginny too.

'What's up?' he asked her.

Ginny took a deep breath as though steeling herself, but at that precise moment, Percy Weasley approached.

'Anyone sitting here?' he asked, indicating the open space next to Harry on the bench. 'Fred and George are causing far too much noise up the table, and I wanted to revise Charms over dinner.'

Ginny gave a frightened squeak, her gaze darting to Percy above her. She muttered something incoherent, and darted away down the long table to seat herself with a group of other first years.

'Percy!' Ron moaned, as the elder Weasley took the open space and reached for the flagon of pumpkin juice. 'You scared her off! She was about to tell us something important!'

Percy knocked the flagon over, sending a stream of sticky juice over Katie Bell's Transfiguration notes. 'Sorry, Katie,' he mumbled to her as she attempted to salvage the stack of parchment. He flicked a cleaning charm to dispel the worst of the spill and turned to look at Ron and Harry, his ears distinctly red.

'Oh, that,' he said, trying for casual. Harry could tell that Percy was highly uncomfortable. 'That…er, that doesn't have anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets.'

Ron gave him a sceptical look. 'How do you know?' he accused.

Percy's ears went redder still. Harry was faintly surprised they weren't issuing steam at this rate.

'I… well, if you must know, Ginny… she, er, walked in on me a few weeks back, when I was with… it doesn't matter. Anyway, she spotted me doing – something – and I asked her not to bring it up with anyone. That's all.'

Ron was smirking now. 'Really?' he asked, a hint of humour in his voice. 'So… what were you doing, Percy?'

Percy frowned. 'None of your business,' he said loftily. 'Though, I must say, I did rather think she'd keep her word. Maura,' he continued, turning to another sixth year student and clearly keen to change the subject. 'Have you heard whether Flitwick is intending to include a section on banishing animate objects?'

Harry was less certain that Percy's secret was really the subject of Ginny's distraction, but he didn't get a chance to ask her. Ginny went off to bed immediately when the Gryffindors were returned to their common room at the end of the evening and he and Ron fell into the celebrations the Weasley twins were organising for several hours, neglecting their own revisions for the rest of the night.

Harry knew that the entire mystery may well be solved by the end of the following evening, but he hadn't yet given up interest in speaking to Moaning Myrtle, if the chance presented. And, to his delight, he saw an opening just after their first afternoon lesson with Gilderoy Lockhart.

Lockhart, who had always taken a most unique approach to the Chamber of Secrets drama, had been almost intolerable since Hagrid's departure. Convinced that the Ministry had arrested Hagrid because they were certain of his guilt, he regularly droned on about his own suspicions of the gamekeeper from the moment he'd entered the school… how he had nearly caught Hagrid twice in the act of attacking the pupils… and how he hoped to be called on to testify, whenever they held the trial to hear evidence against him. Harry regularly employed the mind-calming Occlumency tactics he'd studied with Dumbledore in Lockhart's classroom, after the first of these revolting monologues had ended with Harry's copy of _Voyages with Vampires_ mysteriously catching fire and startling the entire class.

Today, Lockhart's spirits had never been higher, though Harry thought he looked somewhat less than his usual immaculate. His hair was not as perfectly wavy as usual, and there were purple circles under his eyes that suggested he'd been on duty the previous night. As he walked them to History of Magic, however, the Defence teacher bounced on every alternate step.

'You mark my words, the first thing those poor victims will say is, "it was Hagrid,"' said Lockhart, nodding his head at the trailing students. 'I mean, there hasn't been any trouble since he's left now, has there? Exactly as I have been saying all along. It's hardly worth the bother of having us all continue to escort you through the corridors, in my opinion.'

'I completely agree, professor,' said Harry angelically. Ron, who was walking beside him, stumbled audibly. Harry shot out an arm to keep him on his feet.

'Why thank you, Harry,' said Lockhart, beaming down at him. 'I mean, we certainly have enough on our plates, with having to write exams and mark all these end of year essays… it seems a terrible imposition.'

'Yeah, that's right,' said Ron, cottoning on as Harry stepped inconspicuously on his foot.

'Why don't you just leave us here, sir?' said Harry, bending closer to Lockhart with a winning smile. 'We've only one more corridor to go, after all.'

'You know, I just might,' said Lockhart, putting a finger to his lips. 'I could really use the extra few minutes to prepare my next lesson.'

And he dashed off, leaving the second year Gryffindors to continue to Binns unaccompanied.

Harry and Ron dawdled to allow the rest of their classmates to pass them, then slipped quickly around the opposite turn toward the staircase, grinning at each other.

'Prepare his lesson…' Ron mocked. 'What rubbish. Bet he's off to fix his hair, the idiot.'

'Come on,' said Harry, chancing a glance at his watch. 'We might get lucky if we hurry – the other teachers will be escorting their classes too. We can slip downstairs and back to Binns before anyone has –'

'Potter! Weasley!' a clipped voice interrupted them. Harry's heart sank.

Professor McGonagall was hurrying down the staircase toward them, evidently finished with her own escort duties. She looked sterner than Harry had ever seen her.

'What on earth are you doing, out here on your own?' she asked angrily, glancing around the landing. 'You know the rules! You're to be accompanied at all times. Whatever tonight may bring, I have not given my permission to relax our restrictions.' She looked likely to breathe fire as her gaze focused on Harry, who found himself cringing back under her wrath. 'Professor Dumbledore would be most displeased,' she said pointedly. Harry coloured.

'Professor,' Ron put in. 'We were – we were just, er,'

'Going to see Hermione,' Harry finished, the idea popping into his head as quickly and perfectly as his story to Snape at the end of March. He held his breath, waiting for McGonagall's reaction.

'Going to see Ms Granger?' she repeated, looking dubious.

'Yes,' Harry insisted. She continued to stare at him. 'I know we're not supposed to be out on our own but… we haven't seen her in ages, professor – ever since Madam Pomfrey blocked visitors to the hospital wing. And we just wanted to… to tell her that everything will be alright. That we miss her, but that the mandrake potion is nearly ready, and she'll be ok again.' Beside him, Harry could feel Ron now staring at him as well. He wished he wouldn't – it might give McGonagall reason to doubt this excuse.

But to his surprise, Professor McGonagall's face softened immediately. She laid a hand on his shoulder, giving him a ghost of a smile.

'Of course,' she said, her voice a touch thicker and far less stern. 'Of course, Harry. I should have realised – this whole affair has been hardest on the loved ones of those who have been attacked. It is only natural that you would want to comfort her.'

Harry heard Ron let out a whoosh of held breath beside him, as his own heart started up again. McGonagall began to steer both him and Ron by the shoulders down the steps.

'I will take you to see her myself,' she said.

Of course, this left Ron and Harry no choice but to follow through with their tale. They continued to the hospital wing with Professor McGonagall, who unlocked the ward with a muttered incantation.

'Poppy,' she called into the room. The mediwitch came bustling around the bend, eying McGonagall and the students with a frazzled sort of look.

'What is it, Minerva?' she asked quickly, moving in for Harry. 'What's happened to them?'

'Nothing, Poppy,' McGonagall assured her. 'I have given Potter and Weasley permission to visit with Ms Granger for a time.'

Madam Pomfrey looked disgruntled. 'There isn't much point, Minerva,' she started, but Professor McGonagall gave her a sharp look. She turned to Harry and Ron again.

'I shall tell Professor Binns where you have gone,' she told them. 'And I will return for you at the end of the period. Please do not wander into the corridors without an escort,' she warned them. She brushed a hand gently over the top of Harry's head, and left the ward.

Madam Pomfrey sniffed disapprovingly, but did allow them past the curtains to see Hermione. 'I will be in my office if you need me,' she said, bustling away again. Harry and Ron were left alone, staring down at the frozen form of their friend.

Harry thought Madam Pomfrey was probably right. It was clear Hermione had no idea that he and Ron had come to see her, or any ability to process what was happening around her. All the same, he and Ron leaned over the bed, trying to find something to say or do. Harry reached for the hand Hermione held out in front of her, closing his fingers over her clenched fist.

And he froze.

'Ron,' he whispered, shooting a glance over his shoulder to be sure that the mediwitch had truly gone.

'What is it?' Ron replied, coming closer.

'There's something here – in Hermione's hand,' he explained, bending over the fist to try and determine what it was. 'A piece of parchment, I think.'

Ron backed slowly to the edge of the curtains, looking toward the closed door of Madam Pomfrey's office. 'Try and get it out,' he muttered. 'I'll keep a look out.'

Harry was already busy at Hermione's fingers, trying to extract the little slip of paper. It was jammed in tight, and Hermione's hand was unmovable as stone. He worried that the parchment might tear if he wasn't very careful.

At long last, after several agonising minutes, Harry was able to work it free. He spread it out on the bedside table, trying to smooth the wrinkles.

'It's page 724!' he hissed in amazement.

'What?' Ron asked, looking puzzled.

'From that book – _Most Macabre Monsters_ … the book with the missing page we tried to check in the library weeks ago,' he explained.

Harry read the page aloud, his wonder growing more and more prominent as the many pieces began to click into place in his brain.

'Ron!' he said in excitement, almost forgetting to keep his voice low. 'This is it, mate!' He nearly punched the air in his enthusiasm – suddenly everything made sense! 'The monster in the Chamber,' he continued, 'It's a basilisk! _I_ could hear it moving around, because I can speak parseltongue – that's why you couldn't hear the voice! It can live for hundreds of years… spiders flee from it… and it can be killed by the crow of a cock – Hagrid's were strangled earlier this year!'

'Yeah,' said Ron, more doubtfully. 'But Harry, that book says that the basilisk has a _murderous_ stare – not a _petrifying_ stare. And nobody's died this time, mate.'

But Harry shook his head. 'Because nobody's actually looked it in the eye,' he explained. 'Colin saw it through his camera – remember? The film was all melted when Dumbledore opened the back. Justin must have seen it through the Grey Lady… I suppose she might have looked into its eyes directly, but she couldn't die _again_ , could she? And Hermione – she'd just figured out the monster was a basilisk, hadn't she? After I heard it on the way to breakfast and you two couldn't understand it…'

'So she told the Ravenclaw girl,' Ron put in, catching on. 'And the girl must have pulled out her mirror so they could peer around the corner – and they both got blasted!'

'Exactly, said Harry. 'Even Mrs Norris… remember that corridor on Halloween? Myrtle had completely flooded it. I'll bet she only saw a reflection.'

'But Harry,' said Ron, deflating a little. 'That basilisk is about a thousand years old… it must be enormous by now. Wouldn't someone have had to see a massive snake wandering around the school in all this time?'

Harry brandished the parchment at Ron. 'Look,' he said. 'Look here – in the bottom corner. Hermione answered that as well.'

' _Pipes_ ,' Ron read out. He gazed up at Harry. 'It's using the plumbing?' he said in surprise.

Harry nodded. 'It's brilliant, really,' he said, musing aloud. 'That way, it could get anywhere at all – in practically the whole castle – and nobody would ever see it moving about. It's probably why I could hear the voice coming from odd directions; through the floors and ceilings and everything; I was hearing it in the walls…' he shuddered.

'Seems odd though,' Ron snorted. 'A terrifying monster sneaking round the drains… it's like a ghost who haunts a toi–'

But Ron cut himself off, looking like someone had clubbed him round the head. He grabbed Harry's arm, an arrested expression on his face.

'Harry…' he said slowly. 'What if the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in a _bathroom_? What if it's in –'

'Moaning Myrtle's!' cried Harry. The illumination was perfect – he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it himself. 'That's it, Ron, it's got to be!' he said, shoving the parchment in his pocket. 'Let's go!'

'Where?' said Ron, now looking scared.

'To McGonagall,' Harry decided. 'She'll probably be in the staff room – she didn't have a class this period and it's nearly break. We can tell her everything.'

Ron looked wary. 'I dunno…' he said. 'She told us to wait here for her, Harry. She might be miffed if we go tearing off down the corridors again.'

'Who _cares_ ,' Harry said emphatically. 'It doesn't matter if we lose a couple of points for Gryffindor, Ron – we've got to tell them now!'

'Alright,' Ron agreed, with another anxious glance toward the door. 'But let's hurry, before Madam Pomfrey comes back out.'

They tore down the corridors, racing to the staff room door. Quite luckily, the room was not locked, and they let themselves inside, looking wildly around for McGonagall. She wasn't there.

'Should we –' Ron began, but he was drowned out almost at once by McGonagall's magnified voice, echoing so loudly through the empty room that it made Harry jump.

 _'All students are to return immediately to their house dormitories. All members of staff will proceed to the staff room at once.'_

Harry and Ron exchanged terrified looks. 'Not now!' Ron moaned. 'We're so close!'

But Harry shushed him, pointing toward a large cabinet in the corner of the room.

'Let's hide in there,' he said, 'and hear what it's all about. We can tell them what we've found out after.'

Ron looked nervous again, but he followed Harry into the cupboard. Harry cast a silencing charm at the door and they crouched down, listening hard and peering through the sliver of a gap.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Minerva left the two young Gryffindors with their fallen friend, returning to her office with a heavy heart. She was impatient to reach this evening, when they might finally get some answers. Wearily, she pulled a pile of parchment toward her across the desk and began to mark the essays from her N.E.W.T. students.

Three-quarters of an hour in, there was a frantic knock at her office door. She pulled it ajar to see Professor Vector on the threshold, looking harried.

'What is it, Septima?' she asked the frazzled Arithmancy professor.

'Oh, Minerva,' Professor Vector answered, pushing herself into the room. 'I don't know whether you've heard from Filius yet, but I can't find her.'

'Can't find who, Septima?' Minerva asked in confusion.

Septima began ringing her hands in distress. 'Filius flooed over to the staff room just after the start of the period,' she explained. 'He has your first years right now, apparently, and one girl did not turn up for the lesson. He asked if someone could discover where she'd gone to, and I volunteered. I made a call to Poppy, but the girl was not in hospital wing, and I've been right through the Gryffindor dormitories, the library, and all the loos between the Charms classroom and the grounds… because apparently they'd come from Herbology. But I could not find her anywhere.'

Minerva felt a thrill of horror. 'Which student is missing, Septima?' she asked in a whisper.

'Ginevra Weasley.'

Minerva felt the knot in her chest tighten. She knew the Weasleys well – had educated all seven of their children, and was friendly with both Molly and Arthur. If something had happened to their only daughter…

But no, it was no use going there now. After all, Ginny Weasley was a pure-blood, and far less likely to be a target for Slytherin's monster… though the Heir had also attacked a cat, a ghost and a half-blood witch.

She pulled herself together.

'I shall get Argus to search the grounds,' she said decisively. 'If you would sweep the upper floors, Septima, I will take care of the ground through third myself. Please request the assistance of whoever else happens to have a free period… send word if you find anything.'

'Of course, Minerva,' Septima answered at once. She hurried through the door again, Minerva on her heels.

Minerva hurried to send a message to Filch, then dashed off for the ground floor, her sense of apprehension rising. She searched diligently in every classroom, casting _homenum revelio_ at every doorway, but she was unable to find the child. She had no more luck on the first floor.

'Minerva,' came the wheezy voice of the caretaker as she crossed the landing onto the second. She turned to face him.

'I've looked round the grounds, but no sign of the girl,' he told her as he reached her side.

Minerva nodded her understanding. 'Very well,' she said with a sigh. 'Just this floor left then. Shall you take the right and I'll go left?'

Argus agreed, shuffling off toward the scene of his cat's attack. But Minerva was not halfway down her own path when a bellow from the man brought her running back. She found him frozen in place, gaping at the same wall where Albus had detached Mrs Norris. His eyes were bugged from his face as he stared at a _second_ message, gleaming ominously just under the first.

 _Her Skeleton Will Lie in the Chamber, Forever_.

Minerva read the message quickly, an odd buzzing filling her ears as the corridor seemed to tunnel around her. She was snapped back to reality by the feel of rough hands on her forearms – apparently Filch had steadied her as she swayed.

Minerva pulled herself straight again, smoothing her robes with a prim word of thanks to the caretaker. She glanced again at the threatening message, and gave a small shudder.

'She's a goner,' Filch offered crudely.

'Enough,' Minerva said in a sharp tone. 'I do not want to assume the worst. But we must act quickly.'

She tore off for the staircase, Filch skulking behind her. As she reached the landing, she pointed her wand at her own throat.

' _Sonorus_ ,' she said, touching the tip to a point at her clavicle. She felt the mild heat as the charm took effect. Leaning her hands against the rail, she spoke her message to the staircase, knowing it would echo in every room.

 _'All students are to return immediately to their house dormitories. All members of staff will proceed to the staff room at once.'_

'Ensure that no students are left wandering about,' she said briskly to the gaping Filch, once she had removed the amplifying charm. 'I must speak to the staff immediately.'

Minerva hurried into the staff room minutes later, where most of the teachers were already waiting. Several tried to accost her as she entered, but she waved aside their questions and approached the front of the table.

'It has happened,' she said gravely to the crowd, once she had taken her borrowed place at the head. More than anything, she wished that Albus were here.

'A student has been taken,' she clarified, 'Into the Chamber of Secrets itself.'

Predictably, there were many reactions of horror and fright. Several of the female teachers began to sob.

'How can you be certain, Minerva?' Severus inquired. He had chosen to remain standing, and Minerva could see that his knuckles were white where he gripped the back of his usual chair.

'We were left another message,' Minerva revealed. 'By the Heir of Slytherin – just under the first. It read, " _Her Skeleton will Lie in the Chamber Forever_."'

There were renewed gasps and muttering around the table, which quickly turned into chaos as Lockhart made a late arrival. To Minerva's great pleasure, Severus put his nasty side to good use in disposing of the fool Defence teacher on some trumped up 'rescue' mission… and she was able to redirect the conversation. There were decisions that must be made.

'The school will have to be closed – immediately,' she said, when order had been restored. None of the teachers looked shocked at the announcement. 'I shall arrange for the Hogwarts Express to come tomorrow morning, to take the students home. All examinations will have to be cancelled – you may tell your O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. students to expect an owl in June alerting them where and when they may sit the tests, at the discretion of the Ministry. All the students will have to be told what has happened, of course. We cannot leave them in the dark.'

'Which student has been taken, Minerva?' Rolanda asked, looking as though she did not really wish to know.

'Ginny Weasley,' she answered, heavily.

Minerva turned toward the door. 'I must go,' she said, 'as we all must. Heads of House, please see to your students at once, and contact me with any problems. The rest of you – please be sure that no students have been left in the corridors… I will arrange to have dinner sent up to the common rooms in the next half hour. I do not want the children out of their dormitories until the leaving on the morrow.'

She had turned for the door when Pomona caught up to her, laying a sympathetic hand on her arm. Most of the other staff members began to file past them, in a rush to tend to their own charges.

'What of the other Weasley children, Minerva?' she asked quietly. 'And Molly and Arthur?'

Minerva's lip trembled a bit. 'I… I will speak to the boys myself,' she decided. 'Perhaps Percy Weasley would like to come with me to speak to his parents. Once I have seen to Gryffindor Tower, I will go to the Burrow myself. They… they should not hear news such as this through a fireplace.'

But before she even made it up to the Tower, Minerva ducked quietly into a small room off the corridor, shooting a silencing charm at the door. For a few moments, she allowed her guard to fall – giving in to the panic and tears she'd been fighting since Septima had first knocked at the door to her office.

She wept for Ginny, for Molly and Arthur, for the Weasley brothers… she wept for Harry, and his uncertain future… she wept for Hogwarts – her home – where her family was.

And then, with as much strength as it had ever cost her in her life, Minerva summoned her patronus, and sent for the Headmaster.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Ron were numb with shock in the aftermath of McGonagall's announcement. They'd crept from their hiding place after the teachers filed out, shooting up to Gryffindor tower to be with the other Weasleys and taking several of their shortcuts to avoid McGonagall, who was also headed in that direction. Nobody bothered to stop them in the corridors – nobody seemed to know what to do.

They only beat McGonagall by moments, but she did not seem to notice they'd arrived back without her escort. She was grave and tearful as she made the announcement to the room, and most of the students merely stared back in open-mouthed horror. McGonagall stayed only a few more minutes, to have a quiet word with the Weasley brothers. And then she left again, before Harry or Ron had processed enough to consider revealing their discoveries of the afternoon.

They'd found Fred and George surrounded by friends in a corner of the common room, both looking uncharacteristically grave. Dinner had been sent up from the kitchens, but none of the Gryffindors were feeling particularly hungry. Percy was not there – he'd gone with McGonagall to contact Mr and Mrs Weasley.

Just after sundown, Fred and George seemed unable to stand the crowd any longer. They excused themselves for bed – until their parents arrived, at least. Harry and Ron took to a shadowed corner on their own, barely able to speak to one another. Harry was still running everything through in his head. Almost as bad as the news about Ginny Weasley was the announcement that the school would close immediately, and all the students would have to leave on the train tomorrow morning. He hadn't had the chance to ask Professor McGonagall what this meant for him… would Harry have to go back to the Dursleys?

'Do you think,' Ron asked quietly, pulling Harry from his melancholy thoughts. 'I mean… I know the basilisk has probably… but is there any chance – do you think – that Ginny is still…'

He trailed off, unable to finish the broken thought. Harry felt horrible. He didn't see any possible way that Ginny could be alive – not if she'd been taken straight to the monster itself. But he didn't want to be the one to say it aloud.

'Look,' he said instead. 'Let's… let's go and find Lockhart, yeah? He's going to try and get into the Chamber, isn't he? We can tell him what we've found out – where we think it is, and what's inside and everything.'

Harry didn't really have much hope that they'd be able to do anything… but doing something was far more tolerable than continuing to sit here doing nothing at all.

'Yeah, alright,' Ron agreed, pulling himself out of the chair.

They took a look around, but nobody bothered to call them back as they approached the exit. Everyone was too horrified by the events of the afternoon to concern themselves with who was wandering unchecked through the corridors. As they climbed out of the portrait hole, however, Harry faltered.

'What is it?' Ron asked, looking back at him in confusion.

'It's just… I've had a thought,' Harry said, not moving from his position outside the entrance to the tower. 'I mean… if the monster of Slytherin is a massive snake, then it probably means I'm not the only parselmouth at Hogwarts, doesn't it?'

Ron considered a moment. 'Yeah,' he said, 'probably. The Heir of Slytherin or whoever it is who's opening the Chamber of Secrets has got to be one too, or he wouldn't be able to control the basilisk. But what has that to do with –'

'Exactly,' Harry said. 'Because Slytherin was famous for talking to snakes, wasn't he? So much so, they made the symbol of his house a serpent.'

Ron rolled his eyes. 'We've been over this, Harry,' he said, sounding annoyed. 'Do you have a point or are we just stalling for time now?'

'The point is, Ron,' Harry said, a little testy himself now, 'You probably have to _use_ parseltongue to get _into_ the Chamber of Secrets. It's not a common gift, is it? That's probably how Slytherin meant to ensure that only his heirs would be able to do it – because it ran in his bloodline.'

Now, Ron looked scared. 'But Harry,' he said slowly, 'that means you're going to have to –'

'I know,' said Harry darkly. He didn't want to – he _really_ didn't want to – but he was certain, now he'd said it out loud, that _this_ was the reason that Dumbledore and so many centuries of headmasters before him had never been able to discover the Chamber. They didn't have the gift.

Dumbledore… he would _kill_ Harry if Harry and Ron took off for the Chamber alone.

'You go get Lockhart,' he said to Ron. 'No, listen,' he said, as Ron made every sign of protesting. 'Go to him, and tell him what we know. He's going to try and get into the Chamber, isn't he? He'll need me.'

'And where are you going?' said Ron, looking scared.

'For McGonagall,' Harry said, heavily.

He was pretty doubtful she'd _ever_ agree to their scheme, but he also knew that taking off with just Lockhart for company was likely to get him into serious trouble… even if Lockhart was, technically, a member of staff. And perhaps, by now, McGonagall would have contacted Dumbledore. Surely Dumbledore would not leave the school in these straits, if he knew what had happened today.

'I'll meet you in the bathroom,' Harry said to Ron. 'In half an hour. Be as quick as you can.'

But Professor McGonagall was not in her office. Nor did it seem she had gone to Dumbledore's study, when Harry sprinted up to check. He'd had to duck round the corner to avoid Professor Sinistra, who seemed to be trying to gain entry as well, and heard a passing Professor Burbage tell the Astronomy teacher that McGonagall had left the school, to collect Molly and Arthur Weasley. He leaned against the wall of the corridor, heart hammering, as he realised what he had to do next. Ron was probably already at Lockhart's office – they were due to meet in Moaning Myrtle's place in just fifteen minutes.

He had to go to Snape.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus had just re-entered his office from the Slytherin common room, having made his own announcements and dealt with the many queries from students, when someone started pounding hard against the door. Growling, he flung himself back out of his chair and headed to answer, assuming that Albus had made his return.

But it was not Albus on the threshold. Instead, he found himself face to face with a panicked and sweaty-faced –

'Potter,' he snarled, glancing up and down the corridor before pulling the child roughly by the scruff of his robes into the room. 'What on earth are you doing here, _alone_ , when you are supposed to be with the other Gryffindor brats in the common room? Don't you think we all have quite enough to be worrying about at the mo –'

'Sir,' Potter interrupted him, looking up with pleading green eyes. 'Sir, I need your help,' the boy said without preamble. Severus was momentarily stunned.

'Help with what, exactly?' he said, in a tone that did _not_ invite confidences. Potter began to fidget a little uncomfortably.

'I, er, I went to Professor McGonagall sir, but someone said she'd left… and I don't think Professor Dumbledore is back yet…'

'Professor Dumbledore has gone to the Ministry, to secure his formal reinstatement,' Snape said. 'He returned to the school this evening, and received word from the board of governors almost immediately after the incident declaring their wish that he reclaim his post. Professor McGonagall has gone out to fetch the Weasley parents, as I am sure you have surmised. They should both be back within the hour.'

'Yes, sir,' Potter agreed quickly. 'But this can't wait!'

' _What_ cannot wait, Potter?' Severus snapped impatiently. The child looked beside himself, darting glances about the room and toward the closed door. Severus growled in irritation, gripping the boy's chin and forcing his gaze to steady. 'What has happened?' he asked, trying to sound less annoyed.

'I know where the Chamber of Secrets is. And what the monster is, sir,' Potter said bluntly.

Severus dropped his hand from the boy's chin, staring, incredulous, into his eyes. He met a glare of determination, and some of the same commanding power he'd recognised at the duelling club so many months before. It gave the child – still so young in years – a semblance of the same aura he'd so often admired in Albus himself.

'Impossible,' he said, shaking the unnerving sensation. 'Nobody but the Heir of Slytherin has been able to discover the Chamber's location in –'

'Over a thousand years, I know,' Potter cut in. 'Sir,' he added quickly, as Severus's eyes blazed at the interruption. 'But _I_ have – well, Ron and I have, we think. And the monster is a basilisk,' he finished.

'And how would you come to think that?'

'I, er,' Potter hesitated, but then seemed to decide to throw caution to the wind. 'I've been hearing a voice in the walls for months, sir. I thought it was all in my head… but then I realised it was _parseltongue_ I was hearing – that the monster is a snake.'

Severus thought on this for a moment. In fact, it did make _some_ sort of sense… given the nature of the creature's attacks. Of course, a basilisk would make poetic sense for the monster of Slytherin himself. But that only made Potter's rash actions tonight all the more dangerous. He crossed his arms, glaring down at the brat.

'You should not have come here alone, Potter. This is the _third_ warning I have given about being out in the corridors unaccompanied – and tonight, of all nights. You are lucky that the school is closing and there is no longer the chance that I can have you expelled for your foolhardy –'

'But, sir!' Potter protested, desperate again. 'Professor Dumbledore _told_ me to come to you, if I needed to. And this is important! It's Ginny's _life,_ sir! And… and Hogwarts,' he added, looking suddenly devastated.

And Severus realised, in that moment, that Potter thought he was about to lose something far greater than a place in the wizarding school. His expression bore the same weight of despair that Severus himself had so often felt, when he had to leave the castle and return to Spinner's End. It was this, perhaps, that allowed him to check his own temper. He sighed, rubbing at a growing ache behind his temple.

'Potter,' he said. 'The headmaster will be back before long. You can relay all this information to him on his return. I am sure he will look into your suspicions himself – and no doubt he will come to some… alternative arrangement, for your future.'

'No!' Potter screeched, causing Severus to jump. 'No, sir, you don't understand. We have to _hurry_ – Ginny could be dead already! She can't afford to wait, even for Dumbledore. I have to go… Ron and Lockhart should be there already –'

' _What_?!' Severus shouted, gripping the boy's shoulders and shaking him a little. ' _Who_ should be _where_?!'

Potter swallowed, looking suddenly scared. 'Pro-professor Lockhart, sir,' he admitted in a small voice. 'Ron went to get him, because Lockhart was going to try to get into the Chamber himself. He's supposed to meet me with him at the entrance, after I told you where we were going.'

Severus snarled, swearing openly. 'You fool!' he spat at Potter. 'Lockhart is not going into the Chamber of Secrets tonight… Gilderoy Lockhart does not know the Chamber of Secrets from his own wardrobe! He is nothing but an arrogant, insipid fraud, and if we are lucky the one positive from this evening will be that he spends it cowering beneath his bed and out of the way. Now, _where_ , exactly, did you send the Weasley boy and the idiot, presuming Weasley manages to drag him from his quaking?'

'The – the bathroom on the first floor, professor,' said Potter, still in that thin voice. 'The one across from the wall with the messages – where Moaning Myrtle lives.'

Severus took three seconds to summon a small object on a long chain from his desk, throwing it over his neck and tucking the pendant beneath his robes. Then he turned at once for the door.

'You will wait here,' he barked at the still frozen child, reaching for the handle. 'I shall ensure that Weasley is returned to the tower, and come back to deal with you.'

'But sir – the Chamber!' Potter insisted, making to follow.

Severus, nearing his wits end, caused a student chair to zip up behind the child and knock his knees from under him. He spelled him to the seat with a sticking charm.

'Wait. Here.' Severus said firmly, leaning over the child to emphasise his point. 'There has been enough tragedy for one day. I cannot put you at further risk. If it will ease your mind, _I_ shall determine whether there is any merit to your theory when I retrieve the Weasley boy, and relay my own findings to the headmaster upon his return.'

He whirled for the door again, his robes billowing out in a swirl of black behind him. But he had no sooner prised it open then there was a blast like a cannon from behind him. Severus turned again in shock, to see Potter standing, nearly shaking in rage, tears falling freely from the eyes that were so like Lily's. The chair that he'd stuck the boy to had been blown away, colliding with the opposite wall and splintering. Potter did not seem to have noticed. He was already striding for Severus, who stood frozen in his surprise.

Potter grabbed for his wrist, locking his gaze, and Severus found he could not pull away.

'You don't understand,' Potter said. 'Please, sir, you have to listen. You won't be able to open the Chamber – you can't. So it doesn't matter if you go without me. Ginny will die. You _need_ me in order to check – in order to get in.'

'What on earth are you talking about, Potter?' Severus said, though with less ire. The boy's small hand was ironclad around his wrist. Severus, still trapped as much by his gaze as his grip, thought he had never looked more like his mother.

'It's _Slytherin's_ Chamber, professor,' the boy said, as though making an obvious point. 'It will be sealed… with parseltongue. That's why nobody else has been able to find it or open it.'

 _Damn it._

Severus waited for the stretch of a long heartbeat, then shoved the child ahead of him into the corridor. It was against _all_ his better judgment to do so… but he also knew – begrudgingly – that the boy was probably right about the Chamber's defences; and the Weasley girl would most certainly die if they delayed, if she was not already lost. Dumbledore would murder him if he risked the Golden Boy's life, but Dumbledore would also never stand for passivity in the face of action that could save an innocent child. And he had a nasty feeling the foolish brat would run straight into danger anyway, if Severus turned his eye for even a moment. At least, this way, he would be able to ensure he knew where Potter was until Dumbledore arrived.

'You will do exactly as I say,' he warned the child. 'Exactly _when_ I say it. Do you understand me?'

'Yes, sir,' Potter agreed quickly, nearly running ahead of Severus's stride.

'And I make _no_ promises, Potter.'

'Right,' Potter agreed, as they crossed the landing into the first floor corridor. Potter practically sprinted down the length of the marble, and Severus followed with a growing fear that he'd made a rash decision of his own tonight.

 _Juge hâtif est périlleux_ , he reminded himself bitterly, as Potter threw open the door to the bathroom and hurried inside.

The red-headed boy was already there, as was, to Severus's surprise, Lockhart. The Defence professor looked particularly gormless, and only barely managed to hitch on a beaming smile as Severus followed Potter over the threshold. Weasley's mouth dropped open in horror upon seeing his friend's companion, and Severus was rather gratified in spite of himself.

'Professor Lockhart,' he acknowledged with a sarcastic inclination of his head. 'What a surprise to see you here.'

'Severus,' Lockhart said with a congenial smile. 'Well, I hardly felt I could let these two wander around without supervision… it wouldn't be the responsible thing to do, would it?'

'Quite,' mocked Severus drily.

'He's a fraud, professor!' said Weasley, giving Lockhart a look of contempt. It seemed he had, for the moment, decided to set aside his misgivings with Potter for bringing Severus along. 'I went to tell him what Harry and I had found out… and he was running away! He was going to put a memory charm on me, but I managed to disarm him at the last second. His wand, er, flew out the window… but Harry said to meet him here so I –'

'It doesn't matter, Ron,' said Potter quickly, before the latter could continue in his rant. Lockhart, for his part, looked temporarily incapable of retort. 'Where's Myrtle?' Potter demanded.

The ghost flitted through the farthest cubicle door at that moment, eying the gathered teachers and pupils with wide, mournful eyes.

'So many boys in here,' she said, sounding annoyed. 'What do you want?'

'To ask you how you died,' said Potter, in the same blunt tone he'd used with Severus earlier in the night.

Severus chose not to comment for now, watching the exchange with mingled wariness and begrudging interest. Myrtle, for her part, looked suddenly as though Potter had asked for her hand. She practically glowed with pleasure.

'Oh! It was absolutely _dreadful_ ,' she said, with apparent relish. 'It happened right here – in this very cubicle,' she added, floating to hover over the first cubicle in the row. 'I was crying because Olive Hornby had been teasing me again about my glasses. And I came in here for a bit of privacy. Then I heard a voice – a boy's voice – coming from outside my door. I came out, to tell him to _go away!_... and then – I died.'

Severus rolled his eyes. Potter looked confused. 'You don't remember anything else? You didn't _see_ anything else?'

Myrtle seemed pensive. 'Not really…' she admitted. 'I just remember a pair of big, yellow eyes.'

'Where?' said Potter, more urgently. 'Where did you see the eyes, Myrtle?'

'Somewhere over there,' the ghost said huffily, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the third basin. Potter hurried toward it, Severus close behind.

Potter was running his hands along the edges of the basin, in deep concentration. Severus too began to peruse the marble and pipes, but it did not seem to be any different than its fellows.

'Potter…' he began.

'Look, professor!' the boy said excitedly, pointing at the left-hand tap. Severus narrowed his eyes, bending down for a closer look. There did seem to be something there… a small, hand-etched S… or, perhaps, a snake?

'Do not –' he began, reaching for Potter's wrist. But the child had already turned the tap.

Nothing happened.

'That tap's never worked,' offered Myrtle happily. She had floated over to hover above them, watching their examination with keen interest.

'Come away from there,' Severus said, reaching to haul Potter back from the basin.

But Potter was still staring at the little carving, cocking his head to one side. As Severus's hand closed around his arm, Potter let out a strange, long hiss. Severus nearly lost his balance in shock, dragging the child firmly away from the basin.

Which had gone, sinking into the floor in a blaze of blinding white light. When his vision refocused, Severus saw that a massive hollow pipe had appeared, wide enough for a wizard to enter. He stared.

Potter started immediately for it.

'No!' Severus snarled, pulling the boy back again.

'I _have_ to, professor!' he pleaded. 'Ginny's down there – with whoever's been attacking the school! I'm the only one who can get to her. The Chamber won't open for you.'

'You don't know that,' Severus reasoned. 'And I cannot allow this foolishness to continue any further. You and Weasley will –'

'She's my sister!' wailed Weasley in turn, looking mutinous. 'I'm not leaving her to be –'

' _You are a CHILD!_ ' Severus bellowed. 'An underage, under-trained wizard with no idea what you are facing in this. You will return to Gryffindor tower, where you should have been this past half-hour. _I_ will send word of this to Dumbledore, and when he returns to the school he can deal with it as he sees –'

But Potter had used his momentary distraction with Weasley well. He broke Severus's relaxed hold on his arm, tearing for the gaping hole into blackness.

'I'm sorry, professor,' he said, already lowering himself. 'But I can't leave it to chance.'

And he pushed off, disappearing before Severus could move to intercept him.

'Potter!' he roared, making a wild grab for the robes he knew would be long out of reach. Distantly, he could hear the muffled sounds of Potter's slide, as he made his way down the long pipe to whatever lay below.

Dumbledore was most definitely going to kill him.

'Take him back to Gryffindor tower,' he shot back to Lockhart over his shoulder. And he threw himself down the disgusting tube, racing after Potter.

The pipe was long, and exceedingly dirty. Severus could feel his robes coating liberally with slime and muck as he travelled, winding down what felt like a mile of plumbing. At long last, the tube levelled out and he was shot out the end onto an earthen floor. He pulled himself from his knees with some difficulty, spelling his robes to clear the worst of the grime. Potter was nowhere to be seen, but Severus could hear footsteps up what looked like a roughly-hewn passage. He lit his wand with an impatient flick, and took off after the sounds.

The floor was littered with what seemed to be the bones of tiny animals – rats and mice, mostly, by the look of the skulls. The little skeletons crunched beneath his feet as Severus set off after his quarry.

He found Potter a short way up the tunnel, frozen in horror as he stared at something in the path. Severus's heart momentarily shot to his throat as he recognised that Potter was staring directly at what appeared to be a fifty-foot snake, curled in upon itself. He raced for the still form, spinning Potter by the shoulders to face him. The boy was, mercifully, intact – if pale and absolutely filthy.

'It's alright, professor,' Potter said, looking back at the snake's form. 'It's just a skin.'

'It is _not_ alright!' Severus disagreed. 'You do not listen, as ever, Potter!'

But his impending rant was cut off as hurried footsteps echoed down the passage from behind them. For one wild moment, Severus was certain this would be Dumbledore… but then the wandlight illuminated the arrivals, and he saw it was the Weasley brat and Lockhart.

' _I told you to return to Gryffindor tower!_ ' he spat in a harsh whisper at the pair of them.

Ron bit his lip. 'She's my _sister_ , professor!' he insisted. Lockhart offered no explanation, but merely looked his terror as he gazed upon the massive snake skin. Severus suspected he, for one, was here against his will.

That made two of them.

'What in blazes shed _that_?' Lockhart asked, finding his voice as he pointed a shaking finger at the skin.

'A basilisk,' said Severus shortly. 'Salazar Slytherin's basilisk, it would seem. Which is precisely why these students need to –'

'There's no point now, is there, professor?' Potter put in, hurriedly. 'We've already come this far… by the time you send for Professor Dumbledore, we'll have wasted even _more_ time, and Ginny will die. I can open the Chamber – I know it! You can send us back then. I swear I'll go – and I'll make sure Ron comes too… but you have to let me try and help open it, at least.'

Severus consulted his watch. The headmaster would be returning from the Ministry at any minute. He could get a patronus to him in seconds, either way. And he would have to – for Albus was likely to go mad if he was unable to find the Golden Boy upon his return. But if he sent for Albus to come… would the headmaster even be able to enter behind them? Would the passage have shut by now? If he brought the boys back up, they may lose what chance they had to save the girl… and even if he sent them back on their own with the talisman he'd brought with him, there was every chance they'd need Potter anyway, in the end, if the teachers sought to open the Chamber themselves. Severus was certain that if parseltongue was the key to opening the passage, it would also be needed to enter the Chamber itself. Salazar Slytherin would not have left but one barrier to his personal domain.

'I will walk in front,' he said shortly. 'You will follow my _every_ direction, Potter, Weasley, do you understand?' They nodded eagerly, looking highly relieved. Severus frowned. 'And when we reach the Chamber – you will remain _outside_. If I give you transport back – you will take it. Am I clear?'

'Yes, sir,' said Potter quickly.

'Very well.'

He began to lead the way up the winding tunnel. For several tense minutes they marched in silence, but for the occasional whimper from the terrified Defence teacher. Severus was cautious at every turn; half-certain they were about to encounter the monster, or whoever had unleashed the creature. But the tunnel was quite deserted. After a few minutes, it seemed that the two boys could not suffer the quiet any longer.

'Why would the heir of Slytherin take Ginny into the Chamber?' Weasley mused aloud to Potter. 'I mean, if he was going to attack her, why not leave her wherever she was at the time? He didn't take anyone else down here.'

'I don't know,' Potter replied in a whisper. 'Maybe he just wanted a new way to scare everyone?'

'But why Ginny?' Weasley said, in almost a moan. 'I mean – she's a first-year, and a pure-blood. What interest would the Heir of Slytherin have in her?'

'I don't know,' said Potter again, though he sounded deep in thought. 'But I think you were right yesterday – I bet she knew something about the Chamber after all. Maybe it had something to do with Tom Riddle's diary? Maybe she knew who nicked it.'

Severus, who'd been about to tell them both to shut up, suddenly froze; causing the others to halt in turn, staring at him in surprise.

'Tom Riddle's _what_?' he asked, still processing.

Potter looked a little guilty.

'Er – professor…' he admitted, 'I didn't exactly tell you everything, when I asked you about Tom Riddle that day. Ron and I found a diary with his name on it, you see, that someone tried to flush down a toilet. Then in March, someone stole it out of my dormitory. I think whoever was opening the Chamber of Secrets didn't want it read.'

For a moment, Severus was confused. Tom Riddle was not the type to keep a diary that might be read by any idiotic fool. Even in his school days, Severus doubted he would have been so careless. Tom Riddle operated in secret, divulging his schemes to no one unless absolutely necessary… if he needed to use another to bring his plot about. He could give Albus Dumbledore himself lessons in discretion and manipu –

In a flash of fear and comprehension, he lunged for the Potter boy's arm, gripping it tightly. The child cried out in pain and surprise.

'Oi!' shouted Weasley, trying to come to his friend's rescue. But Severus pushed him roughly away with his free hand.

'No,' Severus snarled, shaking the Potter brat slightly, his eyes wide and glinting with fury. ' _No_ , you idiot boy! That is exactly what the culprit _would_ desire… Did _you_ read this diary? What did you discover?'

'Not exactly,' said Potter, slightly breathless and still struggling to pull his arm free. 'It was blank at first. But if you wrote into it yourself, Tom Riddle answered back. And he showed me something. A memory, I think it was, of the day he caught Hagrid. But he was wrong, sir – Hagrid's monster wasn't Slytherin's. It was only a giant spider, and it was scared of the –'

'Foolish brat!' Severus spat, his mind still reeling with the information. 'Of _course_ he was wrong, you ignorant boy! He _wanted_ to be wrong! He planned it that way – just as he would have intended for you to see that memory.'

Potter stared. 'What are you talking about, sir?' he asked, bewildered. 'I thought you didn't know much about Tom Riddle?'

'You do not understand,' Severus said. 'We must go – all of us. Now. Tom Riddle is not who you think, Potter. Tom Riddle is –'

But he was interrupted by a sudden cry of pain, and this time it wasn't Potter's. He whirled.

Lockhart had tackled the Weasley boy to the ground, huffing with the exertion. He was wrestling the child. Weasley appeared to be dazed. Severus released Potter's arm in surprise, and the boy backed away out of reach, still looking dumbstruck and a bit wary as he rubbed circulation back into his limb. Both of them watched in shock as Lockhart rose from the Weasley boy's crumpled form, the child's wand in his hand.

'The adventure ends now,' he said, oddly triumphant and with no trace of his usual jaunty grin. 'I shall take a bit of this snake skin back up to the castle, and tell them I was too late to save the poor girl. You three –' he gestured with the stolen wand between the two students and Severus – 'will be none the wiser… having tragically lost your minds at the sight of her mangled body…'

Severus realised in a split second what the madman was about to do, and reached desperately for his own wand. He'd half-raised it, but he was not in time.

' _Obliviate_!' Lockhart cried, aiming straight at Severus.

The tunnel was rent with a colossal explosion, bits of dust and huge piles of rock collapsing upon them from the ceiling. Severus' wand was knocked from his hand as a piece of the falling debris slammed hard into his shoulder, and he fell back on top of Lockhart.

His world went black.


	27. The Lion, The Snake, and The Chamber

**A/N:** I _do_ apologise for the murderous cliff-hanger I've left you with for ten days… that is the longest I have ever gone without an update on this story, but unfortunately exams and this illness I have been unable to shake really have taken their toll on me the last week or so. (Although, in times like these, it _does_ pay to have a fiancé who is a surgeon!). I hope this chapter will make up for it.

 **Hammy86** : Thank you for your review and encouragement! To answer your question – yes, my intention with this series of fanfictions is to keep much of the canon major events (esp. in the early books), though many times I will be making alterations to timeline or the way the events unfold, or showing an alternate perspective. However, I will also be interspersing original plot throughout, especially where the books skip over weeks and/or months of time. The diversions will become more frequent as the series continues – because my main idea with this project was to take canon HP (books) and make one significant change: bring Harry to Hogwarts rather than the Dursleys… then watch how that alters the course of Harry's story (as well as those of Albus, Minerva, and Severus). It's a vector effect – so divergence will grow more and more significant as time passes. I want to take the reader on a journey where he/she can see the changes in Harry and the others unfold (personality; talents; confidence; relationships), without an unrealistic pace. With that said, this series is meant to be mainly canon-compliant, not extremely AU. I hope this helps!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 27: The Lion, the Snake, and the Chamber**

Harry threw himself backward as the wand went off with a bang, instinctively diving away from the explosion. Bits of rock and rubble rained down upon him as the tunnel ceiling began to collapse. His terror for Ron, and even Snape, was paramount, but it was all he could do to avoid the deadly chunks of stone as he skittered on his hands and knees farther down the passage in an attempt to get out of range. After a tumultuous few minutes, the thunder finally ceased.

'Ron!' Harry tried to call, desperate. But the dust and dirt stirred up by the explosion left him coughing and raspy. He spat out a mouthful of grit and cleared his throat to try again.

'Ron, can you hear me? Are you alright?' he shouted.

'Yeah, mate, I'm here!' came Ron's muffled reply. Harry cautiously approached the mound of stone that separated them, trying to hear his friend. The cave-in had completely blocked the passage.

'I'm ok,' Ron continued. Harry felt his heart relax a bit in his chest. 'But Snape's been knocked out, I can't seem to wake him.'

Harry swore. 'And Lockhart?' he asked, with less concern.

'Hit himself, the idiot,' Ron said scathingly. 'Doesn't seem to know his own name, or what's going on.'

'Just perfect,' said Harry irritably. He pressed a cautious hand against the nearest boulder. It was stuck firm. Looking up, he saw that the ceiling was cracked and still unsteady looking. It made Harry very nervous.

'What do we do now?' asked Ron, apparently echoing Harry's train of thought. 'I don't know how we're going to get through.'

Harry sighed, steeling himself. He knew what he had to do. There was no choice, really… Ginny had already been down here for hours.

'Wait here, with Lockhart. Try and shift some of the rock,' he said, trying to inject some confidence into his voice. 'And wake Snape, if you can.'

'And… and what are you going to do, Harry?' asked Ron, tentatively.

'I'm going to go on,' said Harry firmly. 'We can't afford to wait. Just… try and clear a path, yeah? That way I can – _we_ can get back through.'

There was a long silence. 'Ok,' Ron said finally, his voice shaking. 'But, Harry –'

'I'll be back soon, with Ginny,' said Harry, cutting across Ron's comment. He didn't want Ron to say it aloud… he didn't think he could keep going if he did. So instead, he turned away down the dark passage, leaving the earshot of his friend.

The tunnel was long and winding. The only light came from the tip of his wand, and Harry thought the darkness was growing more and more oppressive the farther he travelled, crushing the beam of his wandlight into an increasingly dimmer orb. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck were standing, and he knew it wasn't the chill of the dank, filthy tunnel that was causing it. The very air in this forbidden place seemed electrified with some terrible magic.

It wasn't long before even the muffled noise of Ron's attempts to move the rocks faded into the blackness. And still, Harry marched on, hoping against hope that he would find some way to retrieve Ginny without having to face the basilisk… that the Heir would not be waiting for him… that this tunnel might not lead to his doom.

It felt like he'd been walking for hours when, at last, he reached the end.

Harry faced a stone wall – for all appearances, a complete dead end. There was no hint of a crack or handle. And yet, Harry knew this was the entrance. The cold rock was illuminated by two dancing torches, set in sconces upon the wall. Between the flames, two serpents had been carved into some sort of intricate crest, their bodies entwined and twisted. The fire glanced and glittered off their eyes, which Harry realised were in fact pound-sized emeralds set into the stone.

He knew, at once, how he had to open the Chamber.

Harry cleared his throat and commanded the door to open, in parseltongue. Immediately, the two serpents began to uncoil their bodies, moving apart from one another and away from the centre of the wall. As their tails parted, a great split rent the middle of the stone. The two portions of rock began to slide apart, disappearing into the tunnel walls. Harry took one last bracing breath, and stepped inside.

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Severus groaned as he came to, clutching a hand to his pounding head. The ache in his skull was compounded by a very grating scraping noise, as though someone were trying to drag a mountain troll across a dungeon floor. He groaned again as he attempted to shift himself slowly into a sitting position, trying to blink his eyes into focus. He noticed that someone had put a crumpled cloak beneath his head as his hand came down upon it. The scraping sound suddenly halted.

'Professor Snape?' came Ron Weasley's voice. The boy was suddenly before him, his face very close, and incredibly relieved. 'Oh, good, you're awake,' he said unnecessarily, as Severus pulled back slightly to increase the space between them.

'So it would seem, Weasley,' Snape acknowledged dryly. 'What happened?'

'The tunnel collapsed,' the boy said with a grimace. 'My wand – it's been broken all year. Lockhart tried to use it to obliviate our memories… and it backfired. Brought half the ceiling down, and the curse rebounded. I think you got hit with something – we couldn't wake you up. Better than Lockhart though… he got blasted by his own charm. He can't remember who he is.' Weasley nodded over to the Defence professor, who was staring at their conversation in silence, looking politely interested.

'How long have I been unconscious?' Severus asked, still trying to grasp the situation.

Weasley looked uncertain. 'I haven't really been timing,' he admitted. 'But maybe… thirty or forty minutes?'

But it all came back to Severus then. He looked around in sudden panic, ignoring the shooting pain that pierced his head and neck at the whip-like movement.

'Potter!' he snarled, looking around desperately for the boy. 'Where is he?'

Weasley now looked awkward. 'We… we couldn't wake you, professor,' he repeated, carefully. 'I did try, but you were out cold. And we were afraid to try and shift the rocks with a spell – we don't really know how to do it, you see… the whole tunnel might have come down.'

Severus glared at him. 'Get to the point, Weasley – _where is Potter_?'

The Weasley boy swallowed hard. 'He – he got stuck on the other side of the rock fall, professor. We were running out of time to save Ginny, so… he went on. I'm supposed to be making a space so they, so they can get back through.'

'He _WHAT?!_ ' Severus bellowed, pulling himself immediately to unsteady feet. Weasley backed away, looking scared.

'I couldn't stop him, professor!'

Severus rounded on him. 'You do not understand – either of you – you foolish children! You should have shown that book immediately to your Head of House, or the headmaster, or even to me! Tom Riddle was not a confused or well-meaning student, you _utter_ imbecile. Tom Riddle was a murderer, and your recklessness may now cost Potter his life.'

Weasley sputtered. 'What… what are you talking about?'

Severus leaned down very close to him, whispering the words, though he knew not why. 'Tom Riddle,' he said slowly, 'cast the blame on Rubeus Hagrid very deliberately. He did so in order to throw suspicion from himself. Tom Riddle was – and _is_ – he only Heir of Salazar Slytherin. Tom Riddle… is also the Dark Lord.'

Weasley paled, his mouth falling open in horror. 'Harry,' he finally choked out, some of Severus's terror now reflected in his own eyes.

Severus snarled again, fishing in his pocket for his wand. But the robes were empty. His panic mounting, he searched frantically around the earthen floor.

'Where is my wand?' he growled out at the idiot boy.

'I… it – it was in your hand when the rocks came down, sir,' Weasley said in a small voice. 'I think it's trapped behind that big one over there.' He pointed vaguely at a boulder to the far right of the corridor. 'I can sort of see it … but Lockhart and I couldn't shift it on our own, and I've been trying to make a path for… for Harry and Ginny.'

Severus snorted, approaching the rock and trying to see around it. He thought the boy was probably right – there was a dark glint barely visible against the dust and dirt… the ebony handle of his wand, he thought. Mercifully, it looked as though the wand was intact.

'Hold on, sir,' said Weasley, gathering himself together again. 'Lockhart and I can help you push it.'

'There is no need,' Severus snapped irritably, holding his hand toward the gap. ' _Accio_ ,' he said firmly, pouring much more concentration into the wandless spell than he would have needed if he was up to par. Thankfully, the wand shot upwards at once and into his hand. Weasley stared.

'How did you do that, sir?' he asked in shock.

Severus rolled his eyes. 'A certain amount of wandless magic is essential for most wizards. Summoning your wand is something I suggest you learn, and quickly, Weasley. It can save your life.'

The boy still looked dumbstruck, but Severus was growing more irritable with the wasting of their precious time. Potter had already been gone far too long on his own… and there was no telling what may lay in wait farther down the tunnel. If the Dark Lord was here…

'Step aside,' he said roughly to the boy. Weasley moved at once, and Severus pointed his wand at the pile of rubble, carefully choosing a few stones to vanish to create a man-sized gap. He was afraid to vanish the entire heap… his Transfiguration skills were not often practised, and he could not be sure how unstable the structure was already. A false move, and he might accidentally collapse additional portions of the corridor – trapping Potter further, or even killing himself and his companions.

He waited a moment to be sure the stones would not shift from his work. When the pile seemed stable, he turned to glare at Weasley again.

' _You_ will stay here,' he said to the child. 'And pray to whatever gods are your choosing that I am in time to save Potter's foolish skin. Keep that one,' he nodded at Lockhart, 'With you. Do not move from this spot until I return for you. _If_ I am not back in one hour, you will use this,' he removed the small gold pendant from around his neck, handing it to the boy. 'Do you know what a portkey is?' he asked him. Weasley nodded, taking the chain from Severus. 'This is a portkey which is activated by voice command, rather than a set time. If you say "Phoenix" and turn the pendant thrice over in your hand, it will transport you and anyone touching the pendant or chain to the headmaster's office. You will use it to take yourself and Lockhart from this place if Potter and I do not return. _One_ hour, Weasley. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir,' said Weasley, still looking very frightened even as he hung the pendant around his own neck.

Severus nodded at him, but did not offer words of comfort. The brat did not deserve them – letting the foolish hero wander off into danger on his own _again_ … and Severus could not truthfully speak them anyway.

'One hour,' he repeated, with a meaningful glare.

And he ducked away through the gap in the stones, down the long passage.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry held his wand aloft as he cautiously entered the chamber. He knew at once this was the heart of the place – the room was greater in size even than the Great Hall, lined with low-burning torches giving off oddly familiar green flames. There were massive stone pillars that rose from the floor to a ceiling so high, he could not make it out through the dim light. Each pillar was carved with even more serpents – some of which moved and undulated around their columns, others with eyes of precious jewels which glittered down upon him. Harry was sure, as he stepped farther inside, that some of the snakes were watching him.

The weird greenish glow did not illuminate the entirety of the Chamber. Harry crept forward through the pairs of columns, his ears keenly pricked for any sound of the basilisk's approach, and his eyes darting around in frantic search of Ginny. His grip on the handle of his wand was so tight that Harry could feel the wood itself protesting. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to run.

At last, he came through the final pair of columns… and he saw her.

Ginny was lying at the foot of what appeared to be a huge statue – high as any of the columns and four-times as wide. Unlike the pillars, however, the statue was fully illuminated by great basins of green flame at its sides, and Harry – when he craned his neck as far as he could – was able to make out that it depicted an elderly and imposing man, with a beard twice the length of Dumbledore's and hollow, terrifying eyes. At his feet, Ginny seemed even more tiny and vulnerable than usual.

'Ginny!' Harry called in a half-whisper, his voice betraying equal parts relief and terror as he sprinted for her. Her flame of red hair was the only thing in this place that seemed unmarred by the eerie green light.

Harry fell to his knees beside her, grasping her shoulders. She was white, and very cold. There was no rise and fall from her chest that Harry could see. His wand skittered out of his hand as he reached for her, but Harry only vaguely registered its roll, too terrified by Ginny's pallor and utter stillness.

'Please, wake up!' he called to her, shaking insistently. 'Come on, Ginny – wake up! Ron and I came for you – you have to be ok… you can't be dead. _Please_ Ginny – wake up!'

'You cannot awaken her,' said a high, silky voice behind him.

Startled, Harry clutched Ginny closer and turned his head.

From the shadows beyond the closest serpentine column, a young man – or older boy – emerged, walking slowly toward Harry and Ginny with an elegant, confident ease, a small smile on his face. His hair was as dark as Harry's own, though he was several years older and quite a bit taller. His eyes, unlike Harry's brilliant green, were nearly jet black. They were also sparkling. Not in the kindly way that Dumbledore's seemed to twinkle whenever he looked at Harry… but in a way that made Harry's heartbeat pick up a few paces again.

He recognised the boy.

'Tom?' he asked, as the figure came closer. 'Tom – _Riddle_?'

The boy's easy smile widened, until it was closer to a leer. 'Very good, Harry Potter,' he said quietly. His dark eyes seemed to rake Harry's face as he spoke, resting on the lightning bolt scar.

'What do you mean?' said Harry slowly. 'Is Ginny –'

'Oh, she isn't dead,' said the boy carelessly, still continuing his slow advance. He stooped about ten feet from them, retrieving Harry's fallen wand from the stone floor. 'But it won't be long, now.'

Harry eyed the wand – _his_ wand – in the boy's hand. Tom was twirling it between his fingers lazily, still staring at Harry with that glittering, predatory look. Harry noticed, now that Tom Riddle was so close, that he was oddly fuzzy… as if Harry was seeing him through a fogged glass, or perhaps without his spectacles on. He felt his unease ratchet up another notch.

'How are you here?' he asked, still eying the wand. Tom had not offered it back to him. 'You… you were at Hogwarts fifty years ago.'

'I was,' Tom Riddle agreed.

Harry frowned. 'You don't look like a ghost,' he ventured, still uncertain. Riddle's grin widened again.

'No,' he agreed. 'I am no spectre, Harry Potter. I am memory. A shard – preserved in a diary for fifty years.'

He nodded his head toward the statue, and Harry saw the little black book at its feet, lying open and glowing with that same odd green light that permeated the chamber. He stared at it for a moment, wondering at the magic… but this was not the time for questions.

'Help me!' he said, turning back to Tom Riddle and shaking himself from his musings. 'I have to get her out of here – before the basilisk comes…. I've no idea where it –'

'She will not come without an order from her master,' the boy interrupted him quietly.

Harry, who had been struggling to try and hoist Ginny on his own, stopped. He stared hard at Tom Riddle for a moment, then lowered the girl carefully to the floor again. Riddle was still gazing at him with that hungry expression, twirling the wand in his hand.

'Tom,' said Harry, trying to keep his voice steady. 'Give me my wand.'

He held out his hand, but Riddle merely smirked once more, flicking the wand up into the air and catching it again. 'I think not,' he said, still in that quiet voice.

Harry swallowed his rising panic, glaring at the older boy.

'It was you,' he said, matching Riddle's tone. 'You opened the Chamber of Secrets, didn't you?'

Riddle merely grinned at him. 'Oh no,' he disagreed. 'No, it was your little friend here who did that.'

' _Ginny_?' Harry spat, incredulous. 'No way!'

'Well, perhaps that is an over-simplification,' Riddle allowed, nodding his head. 'She didn't _know_ she was doing it, of course. At least – not at first.'

Harry narrowed his eyes. 'What did you do to her?'

'She did this,' Riddle said, indicating the prone form of Ginny Weasley with a careless sweep of her hand. 'To herself. Little girls are notoriously soft – weak. Ginny Weasley is no different. She spilled the secrets of her heart to an invisible stranger. She gave away the very essence of her soul… and now she will pay the price.'

'What the hell does that mean!?' Harry growled out, losing control of his temper. Riddle's eyes glinted in amusement.

'Why, the diary, of course,' he explained, gesturing again to the glowing black book. ' _My_ diary. I wrote it when I was sixteen, you see – preserving myself in its pages. And little Ginny happened to stumble upon it last summer. She's been writing to me all year, telling me all her thoughts and worries… her fears, her loves… it was tedious, of course, but I was patient. I was kind. Ginny grew to love me, Harry Potter. And I – I grew stronger and more powerful through the secrets she shared; the pieces of her soul she poured into the diary. In time, I became _much_ stronger than Ginny Weasley… strong enough to begin to pour _my_ soul back, into her.'

'What are you talking about?' asked Harry hoarsely, still gripping one of Ginny's frigid shoulders. Riddle gave a high, piercing laugh. The sound echoed through the stone chamber, reverberating and multiplying. Inapposite as the laughter was with Tom Riddle's appearance, its eerie incongruity was not the sole cause the chill that ran down Harry's spine. He felt, vaguely, that he recognised that laugh.

'You aren't that quick, are you, Harry Potter?' Riddle said in apparent amusement. 'Miss Weasley opened the Chamber of Secrets, boy. She painted the messages on the wall and strangled the cockerels. She unleased Slytherin's monster. She's been terrorising the school for months.'

Harry could feel his anger rising, burning through his chest with palpable heat. It was an effort to control his voice.

' _You_ did this to her!' he accused. 'You framed Hagrid, when you were at school… and now you're trying to frame Ginny!'

'Well… rather yes and no, Harry Potter,' Tom Riddle disagreed, still seemingly unperturbed by Harry's reaction. 'Framing Hagrid – yes, that was easy. The death of that mudblood girl was an accident, actually. She was simply in the wrong place at an inconvenient time… but it did complicate my scheme. I knew I had to come up with something, else the headmaster was intending to close the school – as I'm sure you gathered from the memory I showed you. Luckily, that great oaf Hagrid was always up to something or another with some dangerous beast… it was not a hard leap to convince Professor Dippet that he was responsible for the attacks.'

Harry bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He wanted to rail at Riddle… but he also wanted the full explanation. And he could tell, listening to the boy recite the tale, that this was something Tom Riddle relished – reliving his past crimes; taking credit, at last.

'Of course,' Riddle continued, 'For my scheme to succeed with Hagrid, I could not reopen the Chamber of Secrets while I was at school. It would have been far too dangerous. And while Professor Dippet may have fallen for the ruse, not all of the professors were so easily persuaded that Hagrid was the culprit.' He scoffed derisively. 'As if Hagrid was half so talented or cunning. It took _me_ five years to deduce the Chamber's location… and I was ten times the wizard that bumbling lout could ever be.'

'Dumbledore,' said Harry, breaking his self-imposed silence as he recalled the expression on Dumbledore's face in Riddle's memory. 'He _knew_ it was you!'

Riddle scowled. 'Dumbledore never seemed to like me as much as the others,' he admitted with a frown. 'But even _he_ could never prove it was me, or save his charity case.'

'I'll bet he saw right through you,' said Harry, with a predatory smirk of his own.

Riddle's eyes darkened. 'It is neither here nor there,' he said, dismissively. 'I knew, in any case, that I could not reopen the Chamber while I was at Hogwarts… but that did not mean that the noble work of my ancestor need go unfinished forever. I created a way to channel my memories… preserve my sixteen-year-old self in the pages of a diary – so that, one day, I could ensure that this school was rid of the mudbloods forever.'

He took a breath in his story, apparently relishing his triumph. Harry, whose eyes had been drifting between Tom Riddle and Ginny, noticed that Ginny was growing colder and colder beneath his fingers… while Tom Riddle appeared to be gaining solidity. Instinctively, he knew that his time was running out.

'Ginny was the perfect conduit,' Riddle continued. 'She was young, naïve, and very, very foolish. It took her many months to deduce that something was amiss with the diary. But even silly little girls will occasionally show _some_ sense. And, eventually, Ginny tried to dispose of the book. All could have been lost… but instead, _you_ came along.'

He took another step closer to Harry, who found himself pulling back a bit, away from that hungry stare.

'The very person I wanted to meet above all others,' Riddle said, his voice almost a whisper now. 'I had waited, for so many months, for the chance to speak to _you_.'

'And why was that?' asked Harry, his voice barely concealing his anger.

'Ginny talked so much about you, Harry Potter,' Riddle said. 'She told me all about your… history.' He nodded at Harry's forehead – to the famous scar. 'I knew I had to meet you, speak with you myself. When you pulled the diary from the water, it seemed I would get my wish at last.'

Harry shook off the feeling of cold dread that was rising in him, glaring back at Tom Riddle in defiance. 'Well, sorry to disappoint,' he said, scathingly, 'But you haven't finished what you started at all. Nobody's died this time – not even Mrs Norris. In just a few hours, Madam Pomfrey will be giving out the mandrake draught, and everyone will be fine again.'

Riddle gave another of his high, cold laughs. 'You don't listen, do you, boy? I don't _care_ about the filthy little mudbloods anymore… my target, my _only_ target for months, has been _you_.'

'But Ginny saw you with the diary,' Riddle informed him, beginning to pace the floor in front of Harry. 'She was afraid you'd work out how to use it – reveal her secrets to everyone. She was afraid that I might tell you her fears that _she'd_ been opening the Chamber. So she stole it back. But it was easy, after that. I had seen _your_ soul, Harry Potter. And I knew you would stop at nothing to solve the mystery. So I upped the stakes. I forced Ginny to attack one of your best friends. And then I forced her to sign her own goodbye on the wall and come down here to the Chamber, to wait. She resisted,' he gave an indifferent shrug, as though bored with the memory. 'But she was weak, and drained. She gave me too much of herself – enough that I was finally free to escape my chains. And soon, there will be nothing left of her.'

Harry clenched Ginny's shoulder again, mounting panic threatening to seize him. 'How could you know I'd come?' he asked through gritted teeth.

Riddle smiled again. 'I told you, Harry Potter,' he said. 'I had seen your soul. I knew you could not leave an innocent to die – that you would want to play the hero. Ginny told me, months ago, that you are a parselmouth. I knew I need only wait… you would come, in the end. And so you did.' He stopped his pacing, stepping closer still to Harry. Harry had to bend his neck back to look into Riddle's face now.

'I have so many questions for you, Harry Potter.' Riddle whispered.

'Like what?' said Harry tersely. He was only half-listening. Though he knew he had to keep Riddle distracted, talking, in another part of his mind he was desperately trying to think of a way to escape, before Ginny was gone forever.

Riddle cocked his head, considering Harry. 'To start, how did you defeat Lord Voldemort? You are an ordinary enough magical child… talented, perhaps, but far from prodigious, in my opinion. Lord Voldemort is the greatest wizard that has ever lived. How did you escape him, with nothing but that scar?'

Harry frowned. Apart from himself and Dumbledore, he had never heard another wizard use Lord Voldemort's name. Most were far too afraid, even now.

'Why does it matter?' Harry said instead. 'Voldemort rose to power years after _your_ time. Why should you care how I beat him?'

Tom Riddle's eyes flashed. 'I care a great deal, Harry Potter. Lord Voldemort,' he said softly, 'is my past, present, and future.'

And with Harry's own wand, Riddle wrote three words in the air, in a glittering green:

 _TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE_

He flicked the wand at the words, and the letters began to shift…

 _I AM LORD VOLDEMORT_.

Harry froze, staring in horror at the anagram. Tom Riddle smiled sardonically at him.

'I had already forged the name, you see, at Hogwarts. Though of course I kept it to myself and a few… intimate acquaintances. Did you think I would keep the name of my common, filthy mudblood father, who abandoned my mother and I before I had even been born, just because he learned she was a witch? _I_ am Salazar Slytherin's one true Heir – through my mother's noble blood! So I gave myself a new name – one which would honour that legacy. One I knew, someday, would drive fear and respect in the heart of every living creature… when I became the greatest and most powerful wizard in history.'

Harry was still numb with shock, but Riddle's words sparked defiance in him. He could feel anger shrouding his fear like swaddling. Finding his voice again, he stared back with fire in his eyes.

'You have never been the greatest sorcerer in the world,' he said, putting as much contempt as he could into the statement.

Riddle scowled, but Harry pressed on.

'Albus Dumbledore is the greatest wizard alive,' he said simply. 'And even when you were powerful, you didn't have the guts to take him on. He could see what you were at school, and he scares you now – wherever it is you've holed up.' Harry could see that his words were incensing Riddle, but he did not care. He ploughed on recklessly. 'You could never be half the wizard that Dumbledore is a man.'

'My mere _memory_ has driven Dumbledore out of Hogwarts!' Riddle spat at Harry, leaning down toward his face with Harry's wand clutched tightly in his fist.

But Harry scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily. 'Dumbledore will never be gone, Tom Riddle. Not while those who remain are loyal to him.'

He'd repeated Dumbledore's words to frighten the pale teenager, or perhaps because he, Harry, was frightened and sought comfort. But as they left his mouth, he knew they were true. A swell of love and comfort rose in his chest, and he welcomed it as it steadied his heartbeat.

Riddle's face was screwed up in his fury. For a moment, Harry thought he might try to curse him with his own wand. Instead, however, the older boy drew back a hand and smacked him hard across the face.

The blow was not as bad as it might have been – certainly nothing like Uncle Vernon's whack the summer before. Harry thought, perhaps, Tom's still-solidifying form had softened the potential impact of his hand. But even so, he spat a mouthful of blood onto the stone floor before staring back at Riddle in defiance. The dark-eyed boy was gazing straight into his eyes, loathing and hunger fighting for dominance in his expression. Harry, registering the clutched wand again, was struck by a sudden thought. Tom Riddle could, apparently, use magic even in this incomplete form… he had managed to write out those letters, after all. But Harry doubted he could pull off advanced spell work right now – that's why he'd been hit instead of cursed; Riddle wasn't strong enough.

Yet.

His musings were interrupted by a sudden burst of music – as eerie and unexpected as it was familiar. His heart leaping, Harry looked wildly around, trying to deduce where the song was coming from as its notes echoed louder and louder off the walls of the cavernous chamber. Riddle too was glancing around, looking confused.

With a sudden burst of flame, Fawkes appeared – hovering six metres up in the centre of the room. Harry had not seen him in months, but it seemed in that time the phoenix had regained his usual size and plumage. He continued his beautiful song, soaring once around the room before diving for Harry. Harry started as the phoenix dropped a crumpled black bundle at his feet then landed heavily on his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly with his talons. And Harry felt Dumbledore in the gesture – giving him support, encouragement, and love.

'Fawkes,' he breathed quietly, tilting his head a bit so that his cheek touched the phoenix's breast. The bird chirped once again – softer this time – just for Harry.

'A phoenix,' Riddle said in bewilderment, staring between Harry and the bird. Harry did not comment, bending instead to retrieve the black bundle Fawkes had left at his feet. Raising it, he realised immediately that he was holding the Sorting Hat.

'And the school Sorting Hat,' said Riddle, now sounding derisive. He gave another of his high, cold laughs. 'So the Great Albus Dumbledore… defender of the downtrodden, mentor to the Boy Who Lived, the " _greatest wizard of the age_ " … _this_ is what he sends his champion, is it? A bird, and a ragged old hat.' Fawkes flapped indignantly on Harry's shoulder, but Riddle paid no mind to the phoenix. 'Do you feel brave now, Harry Potter? Do you feel protected?'

He laughed again, the empty Chamber ringing with the unnerving sound in a pale imitation of the way it had echoed with phoenix song.

Harry merely stared. He didn't see _how_ Fawkes or the Sorting Hat were going to be much use to him… but he knew, without a doubt, that he was no longer alone.

'So…' said Riddle, beginning his pacing again. 'I still want my answers, Harry Potter. The longer you talk, the longer you may have to live. We have met twice before now… or after, in my lifetime. Both times, you managed to escape your fate. So tell me, how did you survive?'

Harry glanced at Ginny. She looked even paler than she had when he'd first arrived. And Riddle… Riddle was growing more and more substantial as the seconds ticked by. Whatever the older boy said, Harry was sure that his best chance at survival – and Ginny's – would be for the fight to happen as soon as possible.

So Harry shrugged. 'Nobody really knows what happened to _you_ ,' he said, pointedly. 'But I know why _I_ lived.' He took a deep breath, letting his righteous anger free reign. He felt the air around him spark a bit. On his shoulder, Fawkes gave another squeeze.

'Because my common, Muggle-born mother died to protect me,' Harry spat. 'She loved me enough to give her life for mine, and you could do nothing to counter it. So I'm here,' he finished, gesturing at himself with one hand. 'And you – you're nothing. I saw you at the end of last year… you're less than spirit. You have no body, no powers to speak of. You're barely alive – hiding away from Dumbledore. You're an ugly, ruined –'

'Enough!' cried Riddle suddenly, his eyes flashing momentarily red with his rage. For the first time, Harry could see the resemblance between this handsome boy and the unrecognisable monster he would grow to be. And he _did_ stop speaking, wondering if perhaps he'd gambled wrong.

But still, Riddle did not move to use the wand. Instead, he gave an ugly grimace. 'So,' he said, sounding as though the effort to keep his voice neutral was costing him everything. 'There is nothing special about _you,_ after all. The magic your mother used is old – very old – but powerful, oh yes. Possibly the only countercharm. I did wonder, you know, whether there might be something… _special_ … about you. After all, there are many odd similarities between us, aren't there? Both parselmouths, half-bloods, orphans raised by foul Muggles… even our appearances carry some resemblance.'

Harry stayed quiet. It was not an avenue he wished to dwell on.

'But, in the end, it was merely a fortuitous chance of timing that allowed you to live,' he finished, leering at Harry. He backed away, toward the centre of the room. 'Let's see then, Harry Potter, how well you've learned your magic. Let's test Dumbledore's Golden Boy – the pride of Gryffindor – against the might of Salazar Slytherin, and the Heir he could not kill.'

Harry made a wild dive toward Riddle that sent Fawkes flying from his shoulder, but the older boy merely sidestepped Harry's attempt, catching his back with an arm and sending Harry hard to his stomach. He tasted blood again, biting down on his lower lip as he smacked into the stone floor. Behind him, Riddle was laughing.

' _Speak to me, Slytherin. Greatest of the Hogwarts Four_ ,' Riddle whispered, in a long, low hiss.

Harry whipped his head around. To his horror, the great stone statue's mouth was opening, wider and wider until a gaping hole was visible. And something – something _huge_ was moving inside it… slithering up from its depths.

Suddenly panicked, Harry scrambled to his feet and as far from the statue as he could get, until he was pressed right up against the stone wall. Though he was terrified of the blindness, he clamped his eyes firmly shut as he heard the basilisk's heavy body hit the floor of the chamber. He knew it would be coming for him… but he must not open his eyes.

' _Kill him_ ,' came Riddle's command.

And Harry knew it would. He could hear the monster moving toward him, its scaled belly sliding roughly against the stone. He forced his frozen legs into motion, trying to make his way toward the entrance to the Chamber by feel of the wall, Riddle's high, cold laughter echoing all around him.

But he ran face-first into a pillar, bouncing off it with a pounding pain in his shoulder. Staggering, Harry tripped, falling hard to the floor again. And behind him, he could sense the serpent's nearness. He tensed, waiting for the inevitable bite, certain he was finished at last.

It didn't come.

Instead, he heard a rush of wings and phoenix song, and the serpent began hissing and spitting madly. Harry felt flecks of warm liquid hit his back and the side of his face; he could hear agony in the snake's angry hissing. He couldn't help it. He turned a fraction of an inch, and squinted through the smallest crack in his eyelids. And he saw that Fawkes seemed to be attacking the basilisk, diving and tearing at its head. The snake thrashed again, and spun so suddenly toward him that Harry did not have time to shut his eyes.

He was lucky. Both the basilisk's great, bulbous eyes had been gouged open by Fawkes' talons, their orbs bloody and ruined. The snake, bright green and thick as the Whomping Willow's trunk, was thrashing in pain and fury, snapping blindly toward the sound of the phoenix as its body careened into the pillars lining the cavernous chamber. Riddle was still standing in the centre of the room, hissing at the serpent.

' _Leave the bird! Leave him!_ ' Riddle cried. ' _You can still catch the scent of the boy… Kill him!_ '

' _No!_ ' Harry shouted at the snake, even as he attempted to put more distance between himself and the monster. ' _Do not move_!'

Riddle merely laughed again, as the snake made a wild lunge toward Harry's voice. 'She will not heed you, Potter,' he said scathingly. 'The basilisk listens only to her _true_ master. Parseltongue will not save you now.'

Harry dodged again as the snake made another attempt, rolling out of the way and back onto his feet. The basilisk might have been blinded by Fawkes, but its sword-length fangs were just as deadly as its stare had been. He darted madly around the chamber, trying to keep out of range. The snake was slowed by its inhibition and pain, but Harry knew he would tire much faster than the serpent. As he dove behind another of the columns, Fawkes suddenly trilled again, close to his ear. Harry looked up at the phoenix – desperate for help. The bird swooped toward him, dropping the Sorting Hat once again at his feet.

Harry didn't stop to think. He snatched the Hat from the ground in sheer panic, pulling it low over his ears.

 _Help me, please!_ , he thought desperately.

'Daring, nerve, and chivalry, Mr Potter,' came the Hat's answering voice, in an oddly satisfied tone; as though he and Harry were merely continuing a conversation. 'That is what sets _you_ apart.'

Before Harry could even register the phrase, the Hat was tightening painfully around his skull. Harry made to yank it away. But before his hand could even grasp the pointed tip, something heavy and hard smacked down on top of his head, sending stars across his vision. He staggered, and the Hat fell from his skull, a gleaming silver handle visible within its depths.

Instinctively, Harry pulled. A beautiful, ancient-looking sword emerged from the Hat, easily four times its length and very heavy. Rubies the size of walnuts glistened in the hilt. Harry had to use two hands to hoist the weapon, but immediately felt its power and might. Above him, Fawkes sang his approval.

' _Kill the boy! KILL THE BOY!_ ' Tom Riddle was still shouting at the serpent behind him.

But Harry was ready now. He turned to face the looming basilisk, sword clutched tightly in hand. He knew, somehow, that he'd only have one chance.

She lunged once more, and Harry did too, but toward the snake this time – driving the heavy sword with as much force as he could manage directly at her approaching head. The serpent's mouth opened wide, and Harry aimed the tip of the sword right to the centre. With a sickening crunch and burst of foul excretions, the silver sword pierced the reptile's braincase, driving straight through the roof of its mouth. The snake gave one final, agonised hiss, and fell with a resounding crash to the Chamber floor, the sword still buried in its skull.

Riddle screamed his fury.

Harry, however, was growing cold and shaky. As he'd made his final stance, one enormous fang pierced his right arm just above the elbow, digging deeper and deeper as the creature died, and finally splintering from the snake as the beast fell. The wound was bleeding freely, and burning with such an intense pain that Harry thought he might pass out from that alone. He wrenched it out as quickly as he dared, causing the blood flow to accelerate greatly… but he knew it was far too late. Already, the Chamber was starting to blur as his vision failed him.

Harry dropped to his knees beside the slain monster, unable to stand any longer. Beside him, the fatal fang clattered to the floor from his slackened grip.

'You're finished, Potter,' said Riddle from above him. Harry looked up with effort, somewhat surprised even in his haze of pain and chill to find the boy standing over him. He hadn't heard his approach. 'You may have defeated Slytherin's monster… but no magic can save you now. Lord Voldemort has triumphed, as is fitting.'

He sank to the floor next to Harry, so that their shoulders were almost touching, leering at the younger boy as he watched his suffering.

'I'm going to stay and watch you die, I think,' Riddle said quietly. 'Dumbledore's great hope… defeated. Alone and friendless in the Chamber of Secrets… nobody here to mourn his death. Well, nobody but the bird.'

Weakly, Harry turned his head again. Fawkes had come, fluttering down beside him. As their eyes met, the phoenix gave one low, mournful trill. He hopped up onto Harry's knee, a tear glistening at the corner of one eye.

'Does that comfort you, Harry Potter?' Riddle asked at his ear. 'At least the phoenix weeps for your passing.'

As he said the words, Fawkes laid his beautiful head on Harry's injured arm, crying thick, pearly tears against it.

Harry was starting to feel very tired. The spinning colours of the fading chamber were taxing his aching eyes. But the pain… the pain was _fading_.

'Get away!' came Riddle's voice again, suddenly sharp. 'Away from him, bird!'

There was a sudden bang – Riddle had used the wand at last. Fawkes took flight in a whirl of scarlet, startling Harry from his half-doze. Riddle was glaring at the wound on Harry's arm… a wound that no longer seemed to be there.

'Phoenix tears,' said Riddle in a disgusted tone. 'I should have remembered.'

And Harry did. Phoenix tears had healing powers, that's what Dumbledore had told him. His arm was whole and smooth once more. Fawkes had saved his life.

Riddle glared down at him, an ugly expression on his face. 'It matters not,' he said. 'In fact, I would prefer it this way… it shall be _I_ who strikes the death blow then, as it ought to have been all those years ago.'

He raised Harry's wand, but Harry was already on his feet. He dodged the curse that Riddle shouted, charging back toward the statue, around the body of the ruined basilisk.

'Hide-and-seek,' Riddle mocked, striding casually after Harry. 'Aren't we a bit old for this game, Harry Potter?'

Harry did not answer, already swerving in another direction. He skidded on something, nearly falling face first to the floor again. Looking down automatically, he saw that the object was Riddle's diary. It still emanated that odd greenish glow, even brighter now than it had been when he'd arrived. Harry stared at its open pages for a brief second. Then, though he was not quite sure why he did it, Harry picked the diary up from the floor, just as Riddle came around the tail of the basilisk, wand raised.

He froze when he saw the book in Harry's hand.

'Put it down,' Riddle spat, pointing the wand threateningly at Harry.

Harry merely clutched the book harder, backing away from Riddle toward the basilisk's other side.

' _Expelli_ –'

' _Protego_!' Harry countered wildly, automatically, before Riddle could finish the charm.

He didn't know why he'd bothered, without a wand in his hand. To Harry's astonishment, however, a bright white light shot out of his outstretched hand, rebounding Riddle's disarming spell before it reached the diary. Riddle looked momentarily shocked, and Harry used the opportunity to dart away again, around the basilisk's side.

'You cannot run forever, Potter,' Riddle's derisive voice called after him.

Harry knew he was right, as he ducked behind a column at the basilisk's head. Already, his breath was tight and hitching. He was utterly exhausted. Even with Fawkes' help with his arm, he was still aching, covered in bruises, and shaky with blood loss. And Riddle had his wand. If it came to a duel, Harry was lost.

At that moment, Fawkes reappeared, dropping something else with a clatter at his feet. Reaching down, Harry saw that the phoenix had brought the very fang that had almost killed him. He picked it up curiously, trying not to dwell on the fact that it was stained with his own blood, as Riddle once again came into sight.

With a sudden wave of brilliant instinct, Harry knew what to do.

He threw the little back diary to the ground, taking the basilisk fang into his hand. Riddle, who seemed to realise at the last moment what Harry intended, gave a growl of fury as he raised the wand again. But Harry had already begun his swing.

With nearly as much conviction as he'd thrown behind the slaughter of the basilisk, Harry plunged the long, deadly fang into the very centre of the diary.

A high, piercing scream rent the room. Harry's hands were drenched in ink as it cascaded from the gaping hole, pooling on the stone like black blood. Riddle seemed to be in agony: writhing and flailing on the floor like a dying beast until, suddenly, he was gone entirely. The chamber was silent but for the clatter of Harry's wand as it fell, abandoned, to the floor.

Harry wrenched the fang from the book, tossing it carelessly aside. The snake's venom had seared right through the diary, ink still oozing sluggishly from the hole. Harry leaned back against the pillar behind him, shaking with the sudden end of adrenaline, his energy completely spent.

But the silence was not long-lasting.

' _Potter!_ '

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Severus walked down the long tunnel for what felt like hours, feeling the ache in his head from Lockhart's colossal mishap recede slowly, even while his anxiety mounted with each passing moment. His terror for the foolish child threatened to overcome him, but he dared not move more quickly… not while a basilisk might be lurking in the shadows.

At long last, he faced what appeared to be a dead-end: a wall of solid stone with two flaming torches, and a pair of intertwined serpents with glinting emerald eyes. He ran his left hand across the rock – feeling for a way past. The stone was immovable and solid.

He tried several charms, hoping to unlock the seal. Nothing worked. He hadn't really expected it to. Severus cast a revealing charm in some desperation, trying to deduce whether Potter had passed through, but the magic of the place seemed to block his spell. Well, either that, or Potter was…

But he should not go there. Not yet. Dumbledore would –

 _Dumbledore_. Severus realised with a start that he'd never sent a message to the headmaster. Should he do so now? They must have been missing for hours… Dumbledore would have long since returned to Hogwarts. He would know by now that Potter was not in the Tower. He would probably realise that Severus had gone with him – or after him. He was surprised the headmaster had not already sent a message. Would a patronus be wise though, now that he was no longer with the child?

No, Severus decided. Until he had Potter, there was no point. Telling the headmaster that he did not know where the Golden Boy had got to would only incite Albus's panic, and Minerva's too. Better to determine where the boy was, first.

So instead, Severus contemplated the wall before him. Parseltongue, he was sure, was the way through, as it had been the key to opening the tunnel. But he could not speak it. He wracked his brains for the memory of whatever Potter had said back in the lavatory – the phrase that had revealed the long pipe.

It took seven attempts, but finally Severus stumbled upon the right pronunciation. The door slid open, and he rushed inside.

To his great disquiet, the chamber was familiar. This was the green room that had plagued Harry Potter's nightmares – that Severus himself had visited in that disastrous attempt to legilimise the child.

Now, it looked as though Chamber of Secrets had been the scene of a massacre. Even in the semi-darkness of the massive room, Severus could see dark blood was spattered on the walls, the floor, and halfway up the columns. In the centre of the room, a fifty-foot serpent lay slain upon the stone, still oozing blood from a gaping hole through its skull. Severus could see that both its deadly eyes had been ripped apart. There was no sign of Harry Potter, or Ginny Weasley.

Had he been crushed by the Slytherin monster?

'Potter!' Severus called in panic, running toward the fallen snake.

'I'm here, professor,' came the child's voice, from somewhere behind the basilisk corpse. Severus swept around the beast's head and spotted the child at last. He was sitting back against the base of one of the pillars, covered in blood and grime and very pale. 'It's alright – He's gone.'

'Who, Potter?' Severus asked, kneeling down warily to look him over.

'Tom Riddle, sir,' Potter said, sitting up a little straighter against the pillar.

'He was _here_?' Severus asked in panic. 'Where?'

He jumped to his feet and whirled again, searching the chamber with his eyes. He spied Ginny Weasley's still form at the base of a large stone statue, but no sign of another being in the room. Potter clutched at the hem of his robes, pulling his attention back.

'He's gone,' the boy repeated, more firmly. 'He came out of the diary somehow… but he vanished when I stabbed it with the basilisk fang that got my arm.'

'You were bitten by the basilisk?' Severus breathed in horror.

 _Why_ had he not thought to bring the tears with him? He flung himself down again beside Potter and tore up the sleeves of the boy's robes, searching for the wound. But though his arms bore many cuts and bruises, Severus did not see the mark of a fang's puncture anywhere on the child.

'It's gone, sir,' Potter said. 'Fawkes healed it – I'm fine.'

Severus glared. 'You are anything but, Potter,' he disagreed. 'You are covered in blood and injuries, and shaking like a leaf. You are lucky not to have _died_ in this foul place! What the hell were you thinking, you foolish brat? I _told_ you, you were not to enter the Chamber! I _told_ you to heed my instruction! And you tear off at the first opportunity, yet again!'

'But, sir!' Potter pleaded. 'You were knocked out! And Ginny –'

'Ha-harry?' came a soft voice from the end of the chamber.

Potter broke off, his head snapping toward the sound. Ginny Weasley was stirring – unbelievably, miraculously alive. Potter pulled himself to his feet with some effort, brushing past Severus to hurry to the girl's side. Ginny was pushing herself up uncertainly from her place on the floor, staring wide-eyed between Potter, Severus, and the massive form of the dead basilisk. As Potter reached her, her eyes fell on the ruined little book lying on the stone floor. She began to cry.

'Harry,' she said tearfully, 'I – I wanted to tell you last night, but I… Percy… I just couldn't. I'm so sorry, Harry. It's all my fault – but I didn't know. I swear, I didn't! Riddle – he made me. I couldn't stop, and I – how… how did you kill the snake?'

'It's alright, Ginny,' said Potter quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder. 'Everything is going to be alright now. They're gone – Riddle, and the basilisk. They can't hurt anyone anymore.'

Potter had fallen to his knees again beside the girl, looking very much like he could not remain standing. She threw her arms around his neck, sobbing freely into his shoulder. Fawkes, who Severus had not noticed before, let out a long trill from his place atop the nearest pillar. Severus decided it was time to intervene.

'Can you stand, Miss Weasley?' he asked her curtly, coming over to join the children. She nodded, wiping at her eyes. Potter detached himself from the girl's arms, struggling to his own feet again and offering her a hand.

'Are you injured?' Severus asked, once she had risen. Ginny shook her head, though she looked pale as Potter.

'I'm fine, professor,' she said in a small voice. She refused to meet his eyes.

Severus longed to hear the full story – clearly, much had transpired in this Chamber before his arrival. But both children needed to be looked over, and he was hardly in the best shape to heal at the moment. Nor did he think it wise to remain in this underground Chamber any longer, especially while Dumbledore and the Weasleys waited in terror above.

'Come,' he said, herding them quickly for the door. Ginny Weasley followed at once, her eyes still downcast and her entire body trembling. Potter, however, walked shakily back toward the pillar Severus had found him against. Severus turned to snap at him, but realised the child was merely retrieving his wand, the ruined little book, and a crumpled black rag from the floor. Then the boy made to touch the dead basilisk, and Severus lost it.

'Stay away from it, Potter!' he growled, sweeping toward the idiotic child again. 'Do you wish to experience the poison again?'

Potter did not heed his warning. Instead, he bent carefully over the deadly mouth, reaching _inside_ the snake with both hands. By the time Severus reached him, the child had retrieved a brilliant sword from the dead creature: ancient and goblin-made, if Severus was not mistaken. He stared.

'Where did you get that?' he asked in astonishment. Potter had certainly not travelled to the Chamber with the weapon.

The boy held out the black rag, and Severus took it automatically. As he did, he realised that it was not a rag at all, but the school Sorting Hat. He frowned down at it in puzzlement.

'Fawkes brought me the Hat,' Potter said in explanation. 'I didn't get it at first. But when I pulled it on while the basilisk was chasing me, the sword appeared inside it. I used it on the basilisk… I think it must be Dumbledore's.'

Severus stared again. Had the headmaster sent the phoenix with the sword? Somehow, he doubted it. Not after their conversation earlier this term… he was certain that if Dumbledore could have sent Fawkes, he would have come himself. Albus would not have left the Golden Boy in the Chamber of Secrets on his own, nor trusted to a twelve-year-old's skill with a weapon he had never handled. And Potter… Potter had slain the monster of Slytherin on his own?

It was too much to think about. They had to get out.

'Bring it,' he said tersely, nodding at the sword in Potter's hand. 'And the book. The headmaster will need to see it.'

He turned for the door again, letting Potter fall in step behind him as they re-joined the Weasley girl. Potter staggered a bit as they made their way through the columns, and Ginny grasped his arm.

'Potter,' Severus said uncertainly, narrowing his eyes at the pale child.

'I'm fine, professor,' Potter insisted stubbornly. 'Just really tired is all.'

Severus doubted this assessment, but there was not much point in it now. He just wanted to get them the hell out of this horrid place. He stared doubtfully at the boy, who was still leaning heavily on the tiny first year and looked like walking was far beyond his current abilities. Heaving a very put-upon sigh, Severus pointed his wand at Potter, casting a silent charm. Ginny suddenly overbalanced, and Severus moved in quickly to catch Potter before she accidentally pushed him to ground with the change in weight. He swept the small boy easily up into his arms, careful to avoid the blade of the sword and ignoring his squeal of protest.

'You don't have to –' Potter began.

'Hush, you idiot,' snapped Severus impatiently, already very uncomfortable. 'You cannot make the passage on your own, and I wish to leave this place tonight. I would simply ask the phoenix, but we ought to ensure that your moronic sidekick and the bumbling fool have managed to make the return journey as well.'

'But you were injured, sir, and I'm too –'

'Heavy?' Severus asked sarcastically. 'Hardly, Potter. And I've put a feather-light charm on you, in any case. Miss Weasley, can you manage?'

Ginny Weasley, who had been watching the exchange with a curious expression, jumped a little but nodded. She fell into step behind him.

Severus swept toward the exit, following the still-trilling phoenix out of the bloodstained Chamber.


	28. The Phoenix

**A/N:** Wow! Thank you all for the great reviews and interest (and for not killing me for my delay in updating)! As a reward for your patience with me… here is the next chapter, newly inked. I've also included answers to several reviewers below, which are quite long. As always, feel free to skip over if you'd rather jump to the story. However, if you are curious about some of the thought processes behind the choices of the last few chapters, you might be interested to read some of the responses! Several readers asked really excellent questions, or noted significant plot points for clarification. I realise this story is quite long (longer than Goblet of Fire, with this chapter!), so some of this explanation may be helpful. If you don't want to be potentially spoiled, however, best to skip for now.

 **To babascoop** : Thank you for another great review! I really appreciate you taking the time to read and comment – it's very motivating. To address some of your questions… yes, you are definitely right in thinking that the wandless magic is an important development. This isn't the first time we've seen Harry show an affinity for wandless spells, but it _is_ the first time he was completely conscious of his intention, which demonstrates an important shift in his magical development and is highly significant. Dumbledore has already given us a glimpse into the complexities of wanded vs. wandless magics and the importance of intention in Chapter 12 (How to Bewitch the Mind). He often serves as my conduit for conveying bits of magical theory and background information which will play an important role in the development of the story! This chapter will begin to address the _protego_ incident… and this aspect of the story will be further developed in the subsequent chapters and books. As to Severus's role in that – I will remain silent for now.

Good catch with the hat – that line was very deliberate, but I wasn't sure if readers would spot it. If you recall, when Harry tries the hat on again in Chapter 19 (Naming an Heir), their conversation is a bit more revealing than in canon. The hat gives us a small glimpse of its 'purpose' in Sorting, discussing the process of sifting through minds to desires and destinies, and notes the fact that it can hear what happens around it when it sits on the shelf, despite most wizards' indifference to non-human listeners. Harry breaks it off midstream, terrified when the hat repeats his conviction that Harry would have done well in Slytherin. The Hat's last word is 'though,' and it picks up this train of thought when Harry pulls it on in the Chamber, finishing its explanation of why Gryffindor is the house where Harry is _meant_ to be. It's unclear as of now whether Harry has really registered that – given everything that was going on at the time. They'll be further discussion between Albus and Harry on that at some point.

As to Fawkes… you have probably guessed from the title already, but he plays a prominent role in this chapter, where we will explore phoenix magic and Fawkes' connection to Harry in particular. Fawkes was not new to Harry in this version of the story, as he was in canon, so we've already glimpsed a bit of their developing bond in previous chapters. I hope my explanation here will make sense in that context. Beyond that, I'll let the story answer this one.

 **To Leonore** : Thank you for your wonderful review! As to your query on Harry's increasing strength – that is really the heart of this series of stories, in a way: how Dumbledore, Minerva, Severus, and Hogwarts herself have affected and shaped Harry and his development as a wizard and a person, now that he is more permanently connected to them all. I'm glad you are starting to see it in his character – it will unfold more fully as we continue. I also wanted to let you know I am _not_ ignoring your other question(s)… but I think you will find the answer in this chapter, so will say no more here.

 **To Carissa** : Thank you for your amazing review! I'm very glad you are enjoying the story so much – it is a pleasure to write, especially when I get to hear from readers who are having as much fun on the journey as I am. To respond to your thoughts on the polyjuice potion… I struggled with that one, over whether Snape would tell Dumbledore and/or Minerva what he had deduced. In the end, I decided he would not – at least, not yet. For one, as you have guessed, his reasoning is in part because he knows the information on Hermione was not something he was entitled to have, and that both Albus and Minerva would not be impressed if he used it against the students. Second, I think there's a part of Severus that cannot stomach the idea that the revelation might not lead to actual punishment for Harry and the others, because of the way it was obtained; whereas if he keeps it to himself he can threaten Harry with the consequences as much as he likes. And lastly – though most importantly, in my opinion – Severus performed legilimency on Harry, by way of which he confirmed his suspicions. Certainly, Harry had given (uninformed) consent to the magic, under the guise of wanting to discover what his dream was about, but Severus knows that Albus would be furious if he ever found out about it. Legilimency is an incredibly personal invasion, and I think Severus doubts that any reasoning he could give would persuade Albus or Minerva that his attempt was entirely well-intended, especially given that it caused Harry to pass out. Moreover, I think Severus _knows_ that his intentions were not entirely pure – and feels guilty about that. Whether that reasoning will continue to hold true forever… we shall see. I appreciate your support on the characterisations – it's really important to me that they ring true, even while the story might vary. I'm happy that readers have seemed to find this coming across, so far.

With that – on with the tale!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 28: The Phoenix**

' _Albus, you must come at once_.'

The words echoed through the little sitting room in Aberforth's quarters, chilling Albus to the bone. He was on his feet before the cat had vanished, his dinner quite forgotten.

'I do apologise,' he said to his brother, already summoning his travelling cloak.

'Don't bother,' Aberforth grunted. 'Go where you're needed, Albus.'

The headmaster inclined his head, fastening the cloak around his shoulders. He swept for the fireplace at once, tossing a pinch of powder into the embers.

'Headmaster's office, Hogwarts,' he called. The heat of the fire rushed around him as he was swept home.

Albus stepped out of the floo moments later, brushing wayward ash from the sleeves of his robes. The office was still and silent, the many silver instruments glowing in the faded gold of the setting sun. There was no sign of Minerva, nor any of his other colleagues.

Albus swept over to his desk, calling to the portraits on the wall. Fawkes, on his perch, opened one beady eye to watch his progress.

'Does anyone know where Minerva is?' he asked the painted figures.

'In the Gryffindor common room, I believe,' said Armando Dippet in a heavy voice. 'She met with the staff, and sent all the Heads of House to speak to their students. I dare say she will return here in due course. Have you been apprised of the situation?'

'Not as such,' Albus said. 'I received her message to return, but no details.'

'The Heir of Slytherin,' offered Eupraxia Mole, 'has attacked again. He has taken a young girl into the Chamber of Secrets – a Miss Weasley, I believe,' the portrait continued. 'Minerva is intending to close the school in the morning.'

Albus felt his heart clench as he steadied himself against the desk, thinking of the sweet little girl he'd met in the Weasleys' kitchen the previous summer.

'Have her parents been informed?' he asked.

'I do not know,' Eupraxia replied, shaking her head. 'Minerva made no mention of it.'

Albus nodded, turning away from the many faces on the wall. He sank into the chair behind the desk, his head in his hands. He recognised this powerless feeling – he had felt it before. _How_ could he have let this happen? He knew who had taken Ginny Weasley… but he still knew not how. Fawkes gave a sympathetic trill, floating over to settle himself upon Albus's shoulder. The phoenix's familiar weight gave him comfort.

After nearly an hour, Minerva finally entered the room, steering a white-faced Percy Weasley. Albus's heart ached at the sight of the usually over-confidant boy, reduced to tears and helplessness. He had not anticipated this particular encounter.

'Mr Weasley,' he said gravely. 'I am so sorry.'

Percy nodded, apparently too far gone for words.

'Albus,' Minerva breathed. Her voice and face were a tumult of emotion – love, relief and agonised despair. He did not dare to go to her in front of her student, but stared deeply into her eyes for several long moments. Until she blinked, looking away and brushing her fingers over her cheeks to catch her tears.

'There is much to be done,' Albus said, getting to his feet. 'You are intending to floo Molly and Arthur, I presume?'

Minerva shook her head. 'I think this news would be better delivered in person. I thought perhaps Mr Weasley and I would go together. Molly and Arthur may wish to return to the school with us…'

'Of course,' Albus agreed. 'Would you like to use this hearth, or were you looking to apparate?'

'Apparate, I think,' Minerva said. 'I don't know if the fire would be wholly appropriate…' she trailed off. Albus rather suspected the walk across the grounds was time Minerva had counted on – to pull herself together. He nodded his understanding.

'Of course,' he said. 'I see you have informed the school governors already.' He gestured to the desk, where the dozen or so letters he'd received in the hour waiting for Minerva were spread before him – each begging for his immediate reinstatement.

Minerva nodded curtly. 'Yes,' she acknowledged. 'But we'll need official sanction from the Ministry, of course. Would you prefer to do that after the visit to the Weasleys, or shall I handle that call alone while you go to Fudge?'

Albus hesitated, looking at Percy Weasley. He felt he should probably go to Molly and Arthur as well… but, on the other hand, the sooner he wrapped things up with Fudge, the sooner he would be able to resume his place and his duties, which would probably be to the greater benefit of everyone.

'I shall go to the Ministry, immediately,' he decided. 'I'm sure the Weasleys will want to return with you. Please bring them up here, and I will meet with them myself as soon as I finish with Fudge. Have you spoken with the other Heads of House about seeing to the watch over the castle?'

Minerva nodded again. 'Yes, Filius will take the lead in that.'

'Excellent,' said Dumbledore, rising to his feet.

He pulled out his wand, conjuring three silver phoenixes. He gave each the message that he was headed to the Ministry while Minerva saw the Weasleys, and that they should return in an hour or so. With his nod of dismissal, the patronuses streaked away toward Severus, Filius, and Pomona. That finished, Albus turned to Fawkes, who was watching the scene unfold with bright interest. He stroked the phoenix's beautiful head.

'Keep an eye out for me, won't you?' he asked the bird. Fawkes trilled his understanding as Albus reached for his travelling cloak once more.

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Minerva and the Weasleys beat Albus back to the office. His conversation with the Minister and the necessary paperwork had taken far longer than he had expected, and he did not return to the castle for nearly two hours. When he did, he found both Weasley parents and Minerva in a state of sheer panic. Percy, he noticed, was no longer there. Albus supposed his parents had sent him to re-join his brothers in Gryffindor Tower.

'Molly, Arthur,' he said heavily, reaching a hand for Molly's arm. 'I am so sorry. What happened to Ginevra was –'

'Do you have Ron?' Molly cut in, looking behind Albus as though he was hiding the youngest Weasley boy from view. 'And Harry? Where are they?'

Albus felt his heart freeze in his chest. 'What are you –'

But Molly Weasley cut across him again, giving a panicked sort of wail as she clutched at his arm. 'They're gone! _How_ could they be gone? Tonight of all nights… Gi- Ginny, and now Ron… and Harry… I can't lose them all, Albus, I just can't!'

Minerva broke off from her tense conversation with Arthur at the fireside, sweeping up to the pair at the door and leading Molly Weasley gently toward the sofa. Her own face was strained and pale.

'What has happened?' Albus asked sharply, looking from Arthur Weasley – still standing stoic and white-faced at the hearth – to Minerva, fussily insisting that Molly take a sip of calming draught while her own hands shook.

'Ron and Harry have gone missing,' Arthur said tensely. 'I walked Percy back to the Tower about ten minutes ago, and some of the other students asked after the boys. Apparently, they were seen leaving the common room shortly after Minerva and Percy left to get us. The other Gryffindors just assumed they were coming to meet us, and nobody questioned their departure. They haven't been seen since. I only just told Molly and Minerva.'

The fear that Albus had been fighting since Molly threw herself on him reached impossible heights, threatening to drop him to his knees. Somehow, he _knew_ that the boys had gone for Ginny. It would be so like Harry… and he was certain Harry would be incapable of sitting still while his friend was in such danger. He forced himself not to display the rising panic.

'Minerva,' he said, trying to keep his voice steady. 'Floo each of the staff, immediately. Get all but the Heads of House to start a search through the corridors, but do not inform the students. We cannot afford to start an uproar.'

'Of course,' said Minerva at once, already pulling powder from the jar. Arthur Weasley strode immediately for the door, his wife at his heels, but Albus stepped in front of them to block their exit.

'No,' he said, 'We should remain here.'

Molly looked dumbstruck. 'He's our _son_ , Albus! And Harry is as good as yours! How _can_ you sit here while they might be in danger?!'

Albus felt his heart clench painfully again, but he shook his head.

'There is no point tearing through the castle in blind panic,' he said gently. 'Harry will know that I am returned to Hogwarts. If he and Ronald will come anywhere, it will be here. And messages from the staff will also come to this office. The other teachers will search the school; we can help very little with the effort. The fastest way to receive word on their whereabouts and safety will be to remain in this office. Please, Molly, you must trust me in this.'

Molly still looked ready to rage, but Arthur laid a firm hand on her shoulder. 'Let's sit, my dear,' he said softly to her. And she allowed herself to be led back to the sofa, still hiccupping her tears.

Albus sent for tea while Minerva finished alerting the staff. She withdrew from the fireplace some twenty minutes later, her hair coming down from its bun due to the frequent spinning, and a curious expression on her face.

'What is it?' Albus asked immediately.

'I cannot reach Severus,' she said, looking puzzled. 'He ought to have been in his quarters, in case of emergency in Slytherin house, but he is not there, nor in his office or the common room.'

Albus frowned, considering. He picked up a dash of the floo powder himself.

'I thought you said we were all going to stay here?' Molly Weasley accused, as Albus threw the powder into the flames. He gave her a reassuring smile.

'I will be back in just a moment,' he promised her. He called for Severus's office.

The moment Albus stepped out of the hearth, he could tell that something was amiss. The office – which was usually tidy to the point of unnaturalness – bore the distinct look of a room that had been vacated in great haste. A pile of parchment lay forgotten in the centre of the desk, a quill casually dripping ink onto the topmost sheet. Most curiously, a half-smashed student chair lay against the far wall, the bits of wood suggesting it had been thrown into the stone with some significant force. Albus frowned as he approached the ruined chair, running his hand along it carefully. It bore a magical signature he recognised.

 _Harry_.

'Did you find him?' Minerva asked immediately, as Albus stepped back through the floo into his own study once again. Albus wasn't sure which _him_ she was referring to, but he shook his head regardless.

'I believe that Severus is with the children,' he admitted, retaking his seat beside Minerva.

'How can you know?' Arthur asked, a glimmer of hope in his expression for the first time that evening.

Albus sighed. 'I cannot, for certain,' he clarified. 'But there are traces of Harry's magic in his office – very recent traces. And Harry was given instruction to go to Minerva or Severus if he needed assistance. Given that Minerva had left the school, I suspect that Harry sought Severus's help instead.'

'Well then why are they _all_ missing?' Molly cried, hysterical. 'Severus Snape – he is head of Slytherin house, isn't he? How can you be sure that he –'

'Molly,' Arthur cut in warningly. But she shot her husband a filthy look.

'Don't you deny it, Arthur Weasley!' she snapped back at him. 'We've heard all about him from _all_ our boys for years – none of them generous tales. How do we know he hasn't done something to Ron and Harry?'

'Severus can be harsh,' Minerva allowed, 'But he is not a monster. He would never allow harm to come to Harry or your son.'

Molly opened her mouth to retort, but Albus intervened. 'I trust Severus Snape with my life,' he said simply. 'As I would trust him with Harry's, and Ron's. If he is indeed with them, he will ensure that their safety is his first priority, I assure you.'

Arthur looked placated, though Molly still seemed uncertain. Albus refilled their tea cups for something to do that would not add to the tension.

'Why did you need the Sorting Hat?' Minerva asked curiously, as he passed her refreshed cup.

He stared, dumbstruck. 'Pardon?' he asked in confusion.

Minerva stared back, apparently just as uncertain. She stirred her tea absentmindedly, scrutinising his face. 'Didn't you call Fawkes to you?' she asked.

Albus turned his head, noticing for the first time that the phoenix's perch was abandoned.

'I did not…' he said, slowly. 'When did he leave?'

'He flashed out only moments after you departed,' Minerva said. 'He gave a sudden trill, grabbed the Hat from its place on the shelf, and left quite suddenly. I assumed you'd called for him.'

Albus's eyes flashed, in equal parts triumph and fear. If Fawkes had gone, that meant Harry was in need of him. Which meant that Harry was alive… and also that he was in great danger.

'He has gone to Harry,' he explained, in answer to Minerva's expectant look.

'To Harry?' Arthur Weasley repeated, looking confused. 'But Fawkes is _your_ familiar, isn't he, Albus? It's highly unusual for a familiar to answer the call of another wizard.'

'True,' Albus allowed. 'But phoenixes are unlike most familiar magical creatures. They choose to serve a wizard master, but they are not subservient to him. Fawkes is bound to Hogwarts as much as he is bound to me, and could answer the need of any student, should he choose to do so. He is drawn by loyalty, bravery and need. And he has a greater affinity for Harry than for most.'

'Because Harry stayed with you over the summer?' asked Molly.

'In part,' Albus said. 'And in part because his magic and Harry's are closely entwined. I suspect that this connection allows him greater insight into Harry's state of being than he might have with another wizard – apart from one he had bonded to, of course.'

'What do you mean?' asked Minerva, now frowning herself. 'Why would Harry's magic be tied to Fawkes, if Fawkes has bound himself to you?'

Albus smiled. 'Because Harry's wand has a phoenix feather core. _Fawkes_ ' feather, to be precise.'

'And the fact that Fawkes has donated a feather gives him the ability to attune to Harry Potter?' Molly asked, incredulous. 'I have never heard of a magical creature connecting with the owner of a wand it has helped create before.'

Albus inclined his head. 'Understandable,' he allowed. 'It is not a common occurrence. But then, phoenix wands are the most uncommon variety – of the usual cores, anyway. Most wizards in Britain are selected by a unicorn hair or dragon heartstring.' In his pocket, he felt the weight of his own wand, rarest of them all. 'Phoenix wands are notoriously difficult to please and – like the phoenix – maintain a certain level of independence and self-mindedness even after they have chosen a wizard. It is nearly impossible to win the allegiance of phoenix wand in battle, and even a chosen wizard often has difficulty mastering his wand. If the match is successful, however, the phoenix wand can perform extraordinary magic.'

Arthur furrowed his brow. 'So Harry has a phoenix feather wand…' he said, apparently trying to steady the conversation. 'From Fawkes. But why would that allow this connection, Albus?'

'Phoenix wands are not only rare because of their temperamental nature,' the headmaster continued. 'But also because phoenixes themselves are rare magical creatures, and by far the most difficult to obtain material from. Dragon heartstrings are harvested from the beast after its death. Unicorn hairs are sometimes given by pact between the unicorn herd and the wandmaker, but more commonly extracted from brambles and thickets in forests where a unicorn herd is known to reside. Wild phoenixes live in difficult to reach mountaintops, and are not known to often shed their feathers, except during their time of burning, when the creature is usually most secluded and impossible to reach. Wizards in the wand industry often search for years to obtain just a few samples. Wizards with phoenix companions are the more common source for feathers, but there are very few of us alive today, particularly in this part of the world. And usually – like the unicorn tail hairs – these feathers are the few that are naturally discarded by the phoenix when the bird is moulting.'

'But this was not the case with Fawkes,' Minerva guessed, eying Albus closely.

'No, it was not,' Albus agreed, inclining his head. 'Moulted and discarded feathers will give a wand adequate power, but the most powerful and effective magic comes where the magical creature freely gives the core. I asked Fawkes to do this only once, many years ago. He consented to give two feathers to Ollivander. One of those feathers forms the core of Harry's wand.' He saw Arthur's eyes widen in understanding, and smiled again.

'Phoenix magic is very complex, and difficult to understand,' he continued. 'They do not mate, in the traditional sense, to reproduce. It was once believed that phoenix numbers were finite, and that the birds were immortal. But that is not the case. Phoenixes can amass an immense age, as they cycle through the course of life many hundreds of times. But they can also choose to move on when they are ready to leave this world. New phoenixes are formed by the purest and oldest of magics. It is still not well-understood. Phoenixes do not have children then, in the traditional sense, but they can have _magical_ progeny none-the-less. Harry is Fawkes', in this respect – for his wand holds a feather freely given; magic deliberately shared. It is this bond, I am sure, and Harry's goodness and loyalty, that drew Fawkes to his side tonight.'

Albus did not mention that the children were likely to be in great peril… he did not think the additional information would do anyone much good. There was a long silence as the group took in his explanation, sipping quietly at their tea and avoiding eye-contact.

'But why the Sorting Hat, Albus?' Minerva asked at last.

Albus frowned. 'As to that, I have no idea,' he admitted. 'I'm sure Fawkes would have had a reason, however.'

The little group sat in tense silence again, whiling away the time as they waited for news. Septima came by briefly after almost an hour had passed, to inform them that their search of the castle had so far yielded no results. She backed out of the room quickly, as the announcement caused renewed hysterics from Molly Weasley.

'It's alright, Molly,' the headmaster said, trying to comfort her despite his own apprehension. 'I'm sure the children will be –'

But his reassurances were interrupted by a sudden burst of bluish light, and Molly Weasley cried out in shock as two people materialised in the middle of the office. As the light of the portkey faded, Minerva gave a sudden gasp and Arthur Weasley jumped to his feet.

' _Ron_!' Molly exclaimed in a half-sob.

She flung herself from the sofa and onto her youngest son, clutching at his shoulders as she wept. Ron Weasley looked startled and terrified. His left hand patted his mother's back distractedly, while in his right Albus saw he still clutched something on a long golden chain draped around his neck. Gilderoy Lockhart, who had been holding the chain as well, let his hand drop at Molly's attack, stepping back from the reunion with an expression of bewilderment.

'Mr Weasley, Professor Lockhart,' Minerva said. Albus heard the tremble in her voice. 'What has happened? Where is Harry Potter?'

'I – I don't really know, professor,' admitted Ron, not looking at her. 'We got separated down there. Harry and Snape are still in the Chamber, I think. And… and Ginny.' He gave a half-glance toward his father over his mother's shoulder.

' _Professor_ Snape, Weasley,' Minerva corrected automatically. But her heart was clearly not in the reprimand. She shot Albus a panicked look. The headmaster cleared his throat.

'Perhaps,' he said, 'We should begin at the beginning, Mr Weasley. Why don't you both take a seat, and tell us what happened tonight.'

Ron nodded, allowing his mother to pull him onto the sofa beside her. Arthur did not seat himself but stood protectively at the back of the sofa, a hand on Ron's shoulder and the other on his wife's. Gilderoy Lockhart remained in the centre of the carpet, still watching the scene with a strangely blank expression.

'You may sit, Gilderoy,' said Minerva impatiently to the Defence professor. Gilderoy gulped as though fearful, but seated himself in the chair farthest away from the others.

'Er, right,' said Ron, giving Lockhart a look of chagrin.

'So, Harry and I figured out where the Chamber of Secrets was,' he said, speaking mostly to his knees. 'And what the monster inside it was.'

'How did you manage that?' asked Albus quickly, as beside him Minerva cupped a hand to her mouth.

'With Hermione's help, professor,' said Ron. 'We went to see her this afternoon – Professor McGonagall let us in. Harry found a piece of torn parchment in her hand; from a library book, I think. It was information about a basilisk.'

Molly gave a stifled sob from beside her son, and Arthur shot a panicked look at Albus. Albus held up a hand to forestall questions – he wanted the full story first.

'And what made you think the monster of Slytherin was a basilisk?' he asked slowly. In his mind, he already saw the perfect sense of the theory… but he wanted to know what Harry had done.

'You – you know that Harry is a parselmouth, sir?' Ron asked him. Albus nodded, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from both Weasley parents. 'He's been… sort of _hearing_ the basilisk – in the walls. We didn't realise it at first, but Hermione did, apparently, after the last time. She got petrified before she could tell us though. We think it was using the pipes to move through the school.'

'So you deduced what the monster was,' said Minerva, sounding both terrified and incredulous. 'But how did you learn where the Chamber was? And why did you not come to me immediately with the information?'

Ron swallowed nervously. 'We – we knew that this wasn't the first time that the Chamber had been opened. Ara – er – somebody told us that last time, a girl had died in a bathroom. We guessed that Moaning Myrtle might have been the girl; she haunts a toilet, after all, and it's right across from the wall where the Heir has been leaving messages. Once we figured out about the pipes, we thought maybe the entrance to the Chamber was in her lavatory.'

'So you thought you'd go off on your own after Ginny?' put in Arthur, looking furious.

'No!' Ron protested. 'No – it wasn't like that! We tried to get help. I went to get Lockhart, because we thought he was going to try and get into the Chamber. Harry went to find you, professor,' Ron said, turning toward Minerva. 'Only you'd already left to get my parents, and Professor Dumbledore wasn't here either. So Harry brought Professor Snape. They met Lockhart and I at the entrance.'

'And why did you not let the adults handle it, Ronald Weasley!' Molly cut across him. 'What were you _thinking_ , running off like that into such danger? Did you even stop to consider what your father and I would –'

'Mum, Ginny's my _sister_!' said Ron, sounding desperate. 'I couldn't just… just leave her like that. And Harry had to go. Snape didn't want either of us to – he tried to stop us – but Harry needed to be there to open the entrance, and I couldn't let my sister and my best mate be on their own.'

'What do you mean, Harry had to be there?' asked Minerva sharply.

'The Chamber was sealed with parseltongue, professor,' said Ron, grasping at the opportunity to turn from his mother's withering gaze. 'Only a parselmouth could open it – because parseltongue was Slytherin's magic. Snape wanted to go it alone, but Harry wouldn't let him. He opened the entrance to the passage – it's through a pipe in the loo – and he slid down. Professor Snape went off after him. And then Lockhart and I followed.'

'Have you anything to add thus far, Gilderoy?' asked Albus. The Defence professor merely shook his head, still looking confused. Minerva raised her eyebrows.

'Modesty is an unusual colour on you, Gilderoy,' she quipped, sardonically. Ron Weasley looked oddly uncomfortable.

'Er – that's sort of how we ended up separated, sir,' he said, nodding at Lockhart. 'He jumped me in the tunnel and got hold of my wand. He wanted to wipe our memories, you see, so we couldn't tell anyone he's been making all that stuff up that he writes in his books. But my wand… it broke at the start of term, when Harry and I crashed the car.' He coloured, pointedly avoiding his parents' eyes. 'It hasn't really worked right since. The spell backfired, and Lockhart got blasted – he doesn't remember anything at all. Then the explosion caused a cave-in, and Snape was knocked out, and Harry got stuck on the other side of the rock fall.'

Minerva gave an odd sort of squeal of horror, while Molly clutched Ron close to her again. Arthur was glaring at the Defence professor, who slouched down in his chair, looking scared. Albus cleared his throat.

'What happened then, Mr Weasley?' he asked the boy.

'Harry decided to go on,' he said heavily. 'We couldn't shift the rock – Lockhart and I – and I couldn't wake Snape up. Ginny had already been there for ages… so Lockhart and I tried to move some of the rock to make a path while Harry went to try and get her. It was a while, but then Snape woke up. He was furious that Harry had gone ahead.' Ron shuddered, apparently at the memory of Severus's wrath. 'He vanished some of the rock so he could get through, and gave me this.'

He held up the pendant he'd used to return to the office. Albus immediately recognised the trinket, now that the boy's hand was not obscuring it. He had given the portkey to Severus himself, many years ago – a talisman for emergencies.

'He told me to use it in an hour, if he hadn't returned, to bring Lockhart and me back here. I waited… but he and Harry never…'

He trailed off, starting to cry. Molly pulled him against her chest, whispering soothing words in his ear.

Albus was about to offer his own comfort, when the little scene was interrupted once more.

With a burst of flame and song, Fawkes appeared behind the desk, Severus Snape releasing his grip on the phoenix's tail feathers. The Potions master was holding a battered Harry Potter to his chest, his other hand pressing Ginny Weasley to his side.

Pandemonium broke out.

Molly and Arthur gave simultaneous cries of ' _Ginny_!,' tearing away from the sitting area to pull their daughter from Snape and clutch her tightly to them. Minerva held a hand to her chest, breathing deeply as she steadied herself against the table. Albus, meanwhile, jumped immediately to his own feet, sweeping for Severus almost as quickly as the Weasleys had done.

'Give him to me, Severus,' he said immediately, reaching out to take Harry from the Potions master. Severus obeyed without hesitation, practically dumping the child into his waiting arms.

'I'm _fine_!' Harry protested, but Albus paid him no mind.

'Hush, child,' he said in placation, turning back for the sitting area. The scene felt all too familiar, as Albus remembered dashing through the school corridors this time last year, holding an unconscious Harry in his arms… terrified he might have arrived too late to save him from his own selflessness.

Minerva vacated her sofa at once and Albus laid Harry gently upon it, crouching down so he could look him over.

'I'm fine, professors,' Harry said irritably, brushing off their hands and struggling to sit up. Albus allowed it, though he was still taking in the child's bruised and bloody form. Minerva refused to be pacified, cupping Harry's cheek in her hand.

'He looks a mess, Albus,' she said fretfully. 'We should get Poppy up here straight away. Severus – stoke the fire, he's freezing.'

She herself conjured a thick tartan blanket, casting a warming charm and bundling Harry into it immediately, ignoring his continued protests. Albus poured a fresh cup of tea for the child which Minerva snatched immediately, coaxing it into Harry's hand while she assured herself that the heat from the blanket was adequate.

'I'm alright, really,' Harry insisted, squirming under the scrutiny of nearly everyone in the room. 'Fawkes already healed me and everything.'

The phoenix gave a trill of agreement from the back of the sofa, where he had perched himself protectively behind Harry.

'From the poison, perhaps,' Severus put in from his place by the fire. Albus saw that the Potions master stood more stiffly than usual, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Harry. He was not exactly glaring, but his expression was wary and definitely displeased. 'But phoenix tears concentrate their powers on the most severe of a wizard's injuries. You will still need a diagnostic and several healing potions, unless I am much mistaken.'

'Poison?' Ron Weasley asked, looking horrified. 'Poisoned how?'

'He was bitten in his heroic rescue mission,' said Severus. His voice dripped with sarcasm, but Albus could tell that beneath it he was worried in his own part. 'He is incredibly lucky the phoenix was there to save his neck – basilisk poison has but one known cure.'

'The _basilisk_ bit you?!' Minerva said in terror, gripping Harry's face again. Albus himself bent over the child as well, just to see… to make sure.

'Where?' Albus demanded.

Harry sighed, but wiggled his right arm free of Minerva's blanket, pulling up the tattered sleeve of his robe to show them the place. 'Here,' he said, pointing to a slightly pink circle just above his elbow. 'But Fawkes cried onto it, and I got better.'

Severus snorted, while Minerva ran a hand up and down Harry's arm, as if to rub away a sting. Albus sank onto the footstool at Harry's side, looking to Severus again.

'What happened, Severus?' he asked the professor.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Severus shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Potter and Weasley. He had been rather hoping to speak with Albus and Minerva alone. Retelling the adventure in front of the children did not excite him, nor did he miss the slightly accusatory look in the Weasley parents' expressions.

'I presume you have already heard much of the background from Weasley,' he began, raising an eyebrow at the headmaster. Albus nodded.

'We have heard, more or less, how you came to be in the tunnel. Fuller explanation on that can wait, I think. What I wish to know now is what happened after you awoke.'

Severus grimaced. 'Then you may want to start with Potter, headmaster,' he admitted. 'By the time I reached the Chamber, the climax was over, I'm afraid.'

All eyes turned to Potter, who shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. Albus laid a hand on the boy's knee, his eyes showing his encouragement.

'Ron couldn't wake Professor Snape,' Potter said quietly. 'And I didn't want to leave Ginny on her own. So I went on.' He told them about the walk through the long tunnel, and Severus saw it again in his mind's eye… those glimmering snakes on the wall at the end, the sight of the blood-drenched Chamber as the doors parted. He supressed a shiver at the memory, refusing to acknowledge how much more difficult the journey might have been for a twelve-year-old child.

'When I got into the Chamber,' Potter continued, 'Ginny was on the floor at the end. The light was all green and there was this big statue – Slytherin, I think it must have been. Ginny was at his feet. I tried to wake her, but I couldn't. She was so cold and still that I was afraid she was…' he trailed off, swallowing thickly. Molly Weasley gripped her still-pale daughter even harder on their shared chair.

'Then _he_ came,' Potter said, looking revolted. 'Tom Riddle. I didn't know who he was – not at first. But he told me about the diary,'

'What diary?' Albus interrupted sharply, glancing again between Harry and Severus. Severus grimaced.

'Before the _incident_ with Weasley's wand,' he said to the headmaster, 'Potter told me that he and Weasley had discovered a diary that belonged to Tom Riddle. Apparently, the book wrote back to the reader. I was engaged in a… discussion… with Potter about the diary's owner when Lockhart managed to get hold of Weasley's wand. I was knocked out before I could explain the significance in full.'

Potter was shifting on the sofa again, squirming out from Minerva's hand on his shoulder. A moment later, he'd loosened his restraints enough to reach his pocket, from which he retrieved the book in question. He handed it to Dumbledore, who stared down in wonder at the ruined pages.

'That's the diary, sir,' Potter said in explanation. 'Ron and I found it in Moaning Myrtle's place around the end of the holidays, but I didn't work out what it did for a while. When I did, Riddle showed me his memory of fifty years ago, when he supposedly caught Hagrid with the monster of Slytherin and had him expelled. Somebody nicked it from our dormitory in March.'

'M-me,' said Ginny Weasley in a tearful voice. 'It's all m-my fault, Harry!' she wailed.

'It's not, Ginny,' Potter said quietly. 'You didn't know what you were doing.'

'What do you mean?' said Arthur Weasley, looking between Potter and his daughter.

'Tom Riddle was the Heir of Slytherin,' said Potter, heavily. 'He explained it all to me down in the Chamber. He used that diary to preserve his sixteen-year-old memory somehow, and Ginny ended up with it. He used her all year to attack other students and open the Chamber.'

'What?!' Arthur cried in alarm. 'You cannot mean –'

'Possession,' said Albus quietly, looking very seriously down at the diary. 'It is the only explanation that has ever made sense, though I could not discern until now exactly how he was doing so.'

'Tom Riddle?' asked Arthur in confusion. 'But, who is he, Albus? I've never even heard of him.'

'You have,' countered Severus drily. 'But the Dark Lord no longer uses that name.'

'The Dark – You mean to say, _You Know Who_ has been possessing _my_ child?!' roared Molly Weasley, pulling Ginny more firmly into her arms and glaring around the room.

'How could you have been so foolish, Ginny?' Arthur asked in horror. 'You should have shown that diary to me, or your mother, or even to one of your teachers!'

'She could not have known, Arthur,' said Albus soothingly. 'Far older and wiser witches and wizards have been taken in by Lord Voldemort's cunning. An eleven-year-old girl would not have been difficult prey for him.'

'Indeed not,' agreed Severus. 'But we can return to this later, can we not, Albus? Potter, if you would continue.'

Potter jolted a bit at his address. Incredibly, he looked as though he had been at the edge of sleep while the adults were exchanging their heated exclamations. He even stifled a yawn as he adjusted himself to sit up a bit farther on the sofa.

'Right,' he said, shaking his head a bit. 'So Riddle basically told me that he was _draining_ Ginny somehow, and that her soul was going to make it possible for him to return. He knew who I was, and he wanted to know why I had survived when I was a baby.'

'What did you tell him?' Albus asked, looking closely at Potter.

Potter's eyes suddenly blazed. 'I told him that my common, Muggle-born mother had died to save me. That her sacrifice was the reason I had lived, and he was ruined.'

Severus stared, as did everyone else. The taste of Potter's righteous anger was fresh in the air. Minerva gave an odd noise in her throat, patting at Potter's shoulder. But all Severus could see was the proof of Harry's conviction in Lily's eyes.

'He called the basilisk up,' Potter continued. 'And I tried to dodge it. I didn't have my wand – Riddle took it when I set it on the floor to try and wake Ginny.'

'You _never_ drop your wand, foolish child!' Severus snapped.

Potter frowned at him. 'I didn't do it on purpose!' he complained. Albus cleared his throat pointedly.

'Anyway, Fawkes had showed up with the Sorting Hat by that point. I don't know how he found me…'

'You must have shown great bravery and loyalty, Harry,' Albus said gently. 'He was called to you.'

Potter shrugged again, looking awkward. 'I dunno,' he mumbled to his knees. 'But he was brilliant, professor. He blinded the basilisk, and then I could open my eyes, which obviously made things a lot easier, but I still didn't know how I was going to beat a basilisk, especially without my wand… then I put the Sorting Hat on. It said something about daring and nerves… or something like that, and then it gave me this.'

He pointed at the gleaming silver sword that the headmaster had set on the side table when he'd deposited the child on the sofa, wonder all over his young face.

Albus reached for the ruby-encrusted sword, holding it curiously before him. He ran his fingers across the engraved hilt, a small smile breaking across his face.

'Daring, nerve, and chivalry,' he said quietly, twinkling at Potter.

'What?' said the boy, looking confused.

'That is what the Hat said to you, my dear boy,' Albus said gently. 'Look here,' he said, showing the child the name engraved on the hilt. Potter's eyes bugged open in awe.

'Godric Gryffindor?' he read out, staring back at the headmaster. 'This was _his_ sword?'

'Yes,' Albus acknowledged, eyes still twinkling madly. 'And it is well-known that the sword presents itself only in times of great need, to the truest of Gryffindors. It is a legacy of bravery and valour, Harry.'

He looked so utterly proud, Severus fought the distinct urge to throw something. Or vomit. Didn't Albus _realise_ that the brat had nearly got himself killed tonight? … _Again_?!

'What'd you do with the sword then, mate?' asked Ron Weasley, who Severus had expected to speak long before now. He felt very grateful toward the normally insufferable Weasley boy, for his question returned Potter to his narration, breaking the moment of nauseating tenderness.

'I killed the snake,' said Potter, sounding as though he had done nothing more exciting than swat a wasp. Severus scowled, unsure whether the child's nonchalance was born of bravado or an interest in keeping the trembling Ginny Weasley from losing even more colour with the details.

'How did you manage that, Harry?' Minerva asked. Severus was secretly glad that _someone_ had requested the details.

Potter hesitated. 'I'm not entirely sure,' he admitted. 'I just… knew what I had to do, I guess. The next time it lunged for me, I dove at it with the sword. I don't know if it was luck or if the blade is enchanted, but it went right through the roof of the basilisk's mouth and killed her. The thing was, I got bit as I was doing it. But Fawkes was there straight away, and he saved my life.'

He shot the phoenix a grateful smile as the bird trilled behind him.

'And Riddle?' Albus prompted.

'He wasn't too happy about that,' Potter acknowledged. 'But then he said he wanted to kill me himself. He fired a curse at me and I ran for it. I tripped over the diary, and picked it up. He got really angry then, and tried to use _expelliarmus_ to get me to drop the diary, but I blocked him with a shield charm.'

'You did _what_?' Severus snapped in annoyance. 'I thought you said the Dark Lord had taken your wand?'

Potter shrugged. 'He did,' he confirmed. 'I'm not exactly sure _how_ it worked,' he said, looking at the headmaster. 'I was desperate – it was more instinct that anything. But I shouted _protego_ at him, and the disarming charm was blocked.'

' _Wandless_ magic?' Severus asked Albus incredulously. 'Wandless magic against the Dark Lord? Impossible. Potter is far too young, and the Dark Lord far too powerful.'

'I'm not lying!' Potter said defiantly, glaring back at Severus.

'Hey!' Ron Weasley broke in. 'You told me not three hours ago that I should have been able to summon my wand wandlessly!'

Severus rolled his eyes. 'That is entirely different,' he snapped. 'Simple spells with a narrowly tailored purpose are easy enough to master without a wand, even for young wizards. Creating light, summoning a nearby object, unlocking an unprotected door… these are tasks which require very little magical power and rarely vary in magical application. A shield charm can be cast with many different variances, and is conjured to protect against many different incantations or threats. To cast such a spell wandlessly should require a great deal more skill, and for a wizard so young…'

He glanced shrewdly down at the slumped child before them again, taking in his appearance. 'Would probably leave the caster magically exhausted,' he finished, with a quirked eyebrow.

Albus twinkled at them both. 'Harry's defensive magic has always been very strong, Severus,' he said. 'Although, I must admit, I too am surprised at this particular development. It is something we shall have to discuss more fully at a later time. For now, Harry, I'd like you to finish telling us what happened tonight.'

'Perhaps an invigoration draught first, Albus,' Molly put in fretfully, eying Potter's pallor with concern.

But Albus shook his head. 'I don't want to give him any potions before he's been properly evaluated. Harry will need to see Madam Pomfrey,' he said firmly. 'As will all the children. In fact,' he paused, considering Ginny Weasley, who still looked very pale; Ron, who bore several cuts and scrapes; and Lockhart, who was still staring in polite confusion between the many faces of his companions. 'Perhaps you and Arthur would consent to escort your children and Professor Lockhart down to the infirmary now? They should be seen to… and Mr Weasley will have a chance to greet Ms Granger. I believe Madam Pomfrey is just distributing the mandrake draught.'

'Hermione's awake?' Potter asked with a grin, showing more life than he had done since Severus had found him in the Chamber.

Albus nodded, smiling at him. 'All the basilisk's victims should be regaining consciousness as we speak,' he clarified, sparing Ginny a kindly glance. 'There has been no lasting harm done.'

Severus snorted in disagreement, but kept his countenance. Molly pulled herself together quickly, herding her children and the confused Defence professor ahead of her toward the door. Ron looked very reluctant to leave.

'It's alright, Mr Weasley,' said Minerva stiffly, her lips twitching as she watched his hesitation. 'We aren't going to eat him.'

Ron blushed deeply, mumbling something incoherent in apology.

'It's fine, Ron,' said Potter quietly. 'I'll meet you in a bit.'

Ron nodded, allowing his mother to push him through the doorway.

'Arthur?' Albus called as the last red-head moved to exit. 'Perhaps you could send Madam Pomfrey up here when she's finished with the children. It might spare Harry and Severus the trip downstairs.'

Severus turned mutinous immediately, but Arthur Weasley merely nodded before closing the door behind him, not giving the Potions master a chance to protest.

'I'm perfectly alright, headmaster,' Severus said testily, as the door shut behind the Weasleys and Lockhart.

'You were knocked unconscious tonight, Severus,' Albus disagreed with a quelling look. 'Forgive me if I hesitate to take your word on this.'

Severus rolled his eyes and shot a murderous glare at the Gryffindor brat, who was clearly biting back a smile at the headmaster's fussing. 'Perhaps we could get this explanation over with, Albus,' he said. 'The boy should be looked at, in any case.'

Albus smiled at him, but turned to Potter again. 'Please go on, Harry.'

'It was Fawkes again, professor,' Potter said. 'He brought the basilisk fang to me – the one that had got my arm. And I just had this sudden feeling again… like I knew what I had to do. I stabbed the diary with the fang, and Riddle vanished.'

'Simply _vanished_?' Severus said shrewdly.

'Well… there was a scream,' Potter said. 'And a lot of ink. It got all over me and spilled on the floor and stuff. Riddle sort of twisted round for a few moments, and then he disappeared.'

'How very curious,' said Albus pensively. He was still holding the ruined black book, turning it around in his hands. Severus could tell that something about the diary very much intrigued the headmaster – perhaps even frightened him. But whatever his thoughts on the matter, Albus did not offer them at the moment.

'That's it, really,' Potter finished with a shrug. 'Professor Snape came in just a minute or so after that.'

'How did you get into the Chamber, Severus?' asked Minerva curiously. 'If you had to speak parseltongue to enter?'

Severus grimaced. 'It was not easy,' he admitted. 'But eventually I was able to imitate the phrase that Potter had used to open the pipe in the lavatory. When I entered, he was slumped against a pillar at the far end of the room. I retrieved both Potter and the Weasley girl, who woke up shortly after my arrival, and brought them back through the passage with Fawkes. When I saw that Weasley and Lockhart had already left per my instruction, Fawkes brought the three of us back here.'

'You were carrying Harry,' Minerva pointed out. Severus thought she looked a little smug. He rolled his eyes.

'I was _assisting_ Potter,' he clarified, 'Because he was incapable of walking the passage on his own. Obviously his foray into wandless magic has affected him, and I'm sure he has suffered some blood loss and who knows what other injuries from this ridiculous escapade.'

'But we saved Ginny,' Potter cut in, looking triumphant.

'You did,' Albus allowed, with another proud smile. Severus grimaced.

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door.

'Enter!' the headmaster called, and Poppy Pomfrey bustled into the room. Potter groaned on the sofa, looking as though he were about to face Slytherin's monster again. The mediwitch made a beeline for him, hands on her hips as she tutted.

'Always something with you, isn't it Mr Potter?' she scolded, flapping at Minerva and Albus to clear some space as she set a satchel on the side table and bent over the boy.

'It's not _my_ fault, Madam Pomfrey,' Potter complained. The mediwitch shut him up by stuffing a thermometer in his mouth, pulling out her wand to run a diagnostic. Severus attempted to sidle from the room, but she caught him with her eyes.

'Not so quick, Severus,' she snapped as he made for the door. He scowled, stepping back over to the sitting area and throwing himself irritably into a chair. Minerva giggled a bit at his predicament, and he shot her a glare.

'I'm _fine_ ,' Potter insisted yet again, as Poppy took the thermometer back while the diagnostic spell scanned him. She frowned distrustfully down at the reading.

'No fever,' she said, grudgingly. 'But you're taking a Pepper-Up anyway. Don't feel so put upon, Mr Potter,' she added with a small smile, summoning the potion from her bag. 'I made your friends take some as well. And your temp's a bit low at the moment – it might rise when the chill wears off.' She handed him the little phial, and smirked in satisfaction as steam began streaming out of his ears as he downed it.

'Very good,' the mediwitch said. 'Now, let's see…' she reached for the diagnostic paper, scanning the results with her lips pursed. 'Significant blood loss, slight magical exhaustion, various cuts and bruises…' Poppy read off, sharing her disapproving glare between the boy and Albus. 'Honestly!' she grumbled, rifling through her satchel again. She withdrew with a handful of phials this time, causing Potter's eyes to widen in apprehension.

'Two blood replenishing potions,' she listed off, handing the scarlet phials to Potter. 'Block your nose if you want to – it's rather bitter.'

Potter followed her instruction, grimacing as he forced the nasty phials down. Minerva tutted in sympathy and concern, offering him a glass of pumpkin juice to wash the taste out of his mouth.

'And one for pain,' she added, handing another phial to Potter. Severus noted, however, that this phial was much closer to tan than the usual green shade of pain reliever, and cleared his throat as Poppy made to hand over the potion. She shot him a quelling look, forcing the phial into Potter's hand. 'Take it, Mr Potter,' she insisted.

As the boy drank it down, Severus saw some of the apprehension and tension leave his face. He realised at once that Poppy must have laced the pain reliever with a calming draught.

'Good,' said Poppy, satisfied, while Minerva helped Potter sip some of the juice again. She addressed Minerva and Albus now, pressing various additional phials and jars into Albus's hands.

'He'll need to bathe before you can apply that,' she said, gesturing to the bruise balm she'd handed him in the pile. 'And add that one to the water,' she added, pointing to a thin phial of bright yellow liquid. 'It'll clean out the cuts, so you won't have to disinfect them individually. It's very mild, so with the pain potion he's had already the discomfort should be minimal. You can heal them up once he's finished. And then it's straight to bed,' she added, this time with a stern look at Potter.

'Can't I go down to see Hermione?' Potter asked, a crestfallen expression on his face. Poppy looked like she might breathe fire, but Albus averted the explosion.

'Not tonight, Harry,' he said in a soothing tone, putting a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'Ms. Granger and the others are being kept in hospital wing tonight anyway. We're going to cancel lessons tomorrow – you can see your friends then, and we'll have a school feast at the end of the day to celebrate. Tonight, you need to get some rest.'

'Let's go up and get you sorted,' added Minerva, pulling Potter up by the hand. 'Can you walk on your own?'

' _Yes_ ,' Potter grumbled irritably, though he allowed her to keep her grip on him as they made for the stairs. Albus stood as well.

'I'll see to Harry and return in a moment,' he said, glancing between Severus and Poppy. 'I trust you have things from here?' he asked the mediwitch with a twinkle.

'Oh yes, I'll manage,' she said lightly.

Severus leaned back a bit, as she turned her predatory gaze on him.


	29. The House-Elf and The Horcrux

**A/N:** Ok loves – this is your third update in as many days (or your second in just one day, if you're not a European reader) … Not too much to say – except we are nearing the end of Part One! I think there will be just one more chapter in this particular story. I have already written Chapter One of the second book… and I can't wait to share it, perhaps as early as later today or on Monday. I think readers will love where it's going. Review responses below as well, as per usual. Enjoy the chapter!

 **babascoop:** Thank you again for your review of last chapter! I'm very glad you're enjoying the story, and your comments and insights are spot-on, as ever. I did want to address the concerns about Slytherin v. Gryffindor, because it is a sensitive point for me as well… we'll see Dumbledore get into this in some part this chapter, and it will remain a source of tension and discussion throughout the books. Personally, I think JKR's late redemption of Severus Snape in canon – and Harry's ultimate reaction in his comments to his son, capture the spirit of the way the houses were originally intended to complement each other, rather than rival each other. It's something I hope to bring to resolution much earlier in my own interpretation of the story, and hopefully that will start to unfold in this instalment.

 **anyeshabaner** : Thank you for your review! To answer your questions – we aren't finished with the Dursleys yet! I think you'll see a bit more of how that will play out in the next chapter or so, and at the start of the next book. Keep in mind – Harry still has blood protection charms in place… what will Dumbledore seek to do about that? We'll find out shortly. But the Dursleys definitely didn't get away scot-free – Severus dealt with them back in Chapter 7 (Potions, Potions Masters, and Poisons); though we do not learn all the details, his intentions are quite clear. Whether Dumbledore will take further action on that front remains to be seen, below and in the final chapter. As to the origins of the diary and the Lucius/Dobby storyline – don't worry, that is still to come. I deliberately broke up the post-Chamber discussions with Dumbledore that Harry has in canon… making the headmaster's concern for Harry's wellbeing a little more prominent, bringing a premature end to the discussions on that first night. They will continue into this next chapter.

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 29: The House-Elf and the Horcrux**

Harry awoke the following morning feeling quite refreshed, in his familiar bed in Dumbledore's quarters. His first thought upon opening his eyes was for Hermione – she would be released from hospital this morning.

He hopped out of bed excitedly, tearing for his wardrobe and selecting the first set of robes his fingers touched. He dashed through his necessities in the bathroom, changed as fast as he could, and bounded down the stairs to the study. To his shock, both McGonagall and Dumbledore were sitting in armchairs in front of the fireplace, still dressed in their dressing gowns and looking just as startled to see Harry.

'You are up very early, my boy,' said the headmaster in surprise, giving Harry a critical once-over with his eyes as he set a cup of tea down upon the table.

Harry glanced at the mullioned windows. The light outside was pale and cold – dawn had clearly barely broken.

'Er – sorry, professor,' Harry said in chagrin, 'I didn't realise the time.'

'It's quite alright, Harry,' Dumbledore said with an easy smile, conjuring a third cup. 'Why don't you have a seat and some tea. It will be a little while until breakfast, I'm afraid.'

'Er – right, thank you, sir.' said Harry, taking the proffered cup and a place on the sofa.

'You're feeling better?' inquired Professor McGonagall solicitously, gazing appraisingly at him.

'Oh yes, thank you, ma'am,' he agreed immediately, sipping at the warm tea. 'I was hoping to go down and see Hermione…'

'Of course,' she said with a smile. 'I'm sure she would be delighted to see you – in an hour or so.'

Harry blushed again at the reminder of the time. Dumbledore chuckled from his chair.

'Ah, the stamina of the young,' he said admiringly. 'To bounce back so quickly from perilous adventures.'

McGonagall snorted as she refilled her own cup, apparently sceptical. Harry shrugged.

'I just wanted to make sure she's ok, professor,' he said.

'Understandable, of course, Harry,' Dumbledore replied. 'And I shall not keep you from your friends, once the hour is a little more reasonable. But as long as you are up, perhaps we could discuss in more detail some of the events of last night.'

Harry squirmed a bit, wondering if a reprimand was coming. But Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling at him, and he reasoned that the headmaster could not be too angry.

'Relax, Harry,' said Dumbledore kindly, apparently reading his thoughts on his face. 'I am not plotting to put you in detention for the rest of the year.' From the other end of the table, McGonagall gave a grunt of slight disagreement; Harry rather thought her views on the matter might differ, but Dumbledore merely continued to smile. 'I recognise that you _did_ attempt to follow my instruction, though obviously I would have preferred that you _not_ enter the Chamber of Secrets on your own, whatever the circumstances.'

'But –' Harry began, but Dumbledore held up a hand for silence.

'I know what you are going to say, Harry. And I know that no matter my feelings on the matter, your kind heart and bravery will always drive you to make these choices in the face of danger. It is both the trait I admire most in your character and the one which causes me the greatest anxiety.' Harry blushed under the scrutiny, staring down into his teacup. 'You have shown growth over the past few months,' the headmaster continued. 'At the beginning of term, you would not have gone to Severus for help at all – and that was a choice that shows both maturity and thought, Harry. There is no more I can ask of you than that. I will not ask you to change who you are, but only request that you continue to curb reckless action with intelligent forethought and recognition of your own limitations.'

'Thank you, sir,' Harry mumbled, still blushing.

'Now, I would like to speak with you about Tom Riddle,' said Dumbledore, his tone more serious. Harry looked up from his cup.

'What about him, sir?' he asked warily. Dumbledore gazed very intently at him.

'You were hearing the snake in the walls for months before the events of yesterday,' he clarified, watching Harry's reaction. Harry did not deny it. 'And I must ask, why did you not say anything to me about your fears?'

Harry hesitated, glancing away from Dumbledore's piercing eyes again. 'I wanted to, sir,' he admitted. 'It was just… I didn't know it was parseltongue – not until the very end. And Ron said it's not a good sign to hear voices, even in the wizarding world. I didn't want you to think I was going mad. _I_ didn't want to think I was going mad.'

Professor McGonagall leaned forward, laying a hand on Harry's knee.

'We would not have thought that, Harry,' she said gently. 'We would have tried to help you, if we'd known.'

'I know,' said Harry, very softly. 'I should have said something… I just…' he trailed off, embarrassed to feel his eyes prickling slightly. 'I've been worried all year,' he admitted quietly. 'First with Occlumency… then with the parseltongue… I was scared I was becoming _like_ Slytherin; that there was something dark inside me, something wrong. The murderous voice – it was just one thing too many. I didn't _want_ to talk about it, so I tried to ignore it instead.'

'We cannot ease our fears by pretending they do not exist, Harry,' said Dumbledore gently. 'The only way to conquer fear is to face it head-on, and, sometimes, to allow others to help us through it. I do not want you to ever feel that you must shoulder your burdens alone.'

Harry wiped a bit of moisture from the corner of his eye. 'I know,' he said softly. 'You're right, sir. I should have told you both.' He felt McGonagall squeeze his knee a little, and gave her a small smile.

'It's just… Tom Riddle mentioned it too: the parts of me that reminded me of Slytherin. It was like he _knew_ it scared me. He talked about how alike we are – Tom Riddle and I. Both parselmouths, and everything.'

'Harry,' said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over his half-moon spectacles at him. 'You can speak parseltongue because Lord Voldemort – the last surviving heir of Salazar Slytherin, has that ability. He passed it to you, on the night he tried to murder you as a baby.'

Harry was startled, 'What do you mean, sir?' he asked in terror. 'You mean – Voldemort put some of _his_ powers into me?'

'In a way, yes,' Dumbledore agreed, nodding. 'But that is not a horrible thing, Harry,' he added in a soothing tone, apparently catching Harry's anxiety. 'Enemies who underestimate their opponents; who give them tools they do not mean to – they are far the worse off for their carelessness.'

Harry felt ill. 'But – then the Sorting Hat was right!' he said in panic. 'It could see Slytherin's power in me, and it –'

'Put you into _Gryffindor_ ,' Dumbledore said firmly, cutting across him.

'Only because I asked it to,' said Harry, despondently. Dumbledore shook his head, still smiling serenely.

'Perhaps your choice played a role in the decision, Harry,' he acknowledged. 'Which says a lot about your character in and of itself. I have told you this before, but I will repeat it again. It is our _choices_ , Harry, that define who we are and who we will become, far more than the abilities we are born with. Having said that, however, I have never heard of a Sorting determined by the will of the subjected student. Do you know how sorting is accomplished?'

Harry tried to remember. 'You told me, sir, that the sorting was originally managed by the founders themselves. Then the Hat was created to sort for them, after they had died. The Hat says it sorts by looking into the mind of the student – their desires and destinies, or something like that. I guess it tries to see where they'd fit best.'

'More or less,' Dumbledore agreed with a nod. 'But we do not Sort our students based on their goodness or evilness; light or dark. Sorting is achieved by determining the positive qualities in each student – they are placed where those qualities will be best enhanced and fostered. You _do_ possess cunning and some measure of ambition – both attributes that Salazar Slytherin prized in the students he selected to instruct. You are also brave and righteous, and slightly inclined toward mischief… all qualities that prevail in Gryffindor's house. The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor because these were your most _dominant_ positive traits, as your own choice in the matter underlies. So too does the fact that you inherited the sword of Godric Gryffindor last night. Do you understand?'

Harry nodded. 'But that still means I have Slytherin's traits too,' he pointed out miserably.

'It does,' Dumbledore said. 'And that is nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. As I said, those are _positive_ qualities in a wizard. We have allowed history's portrayal of Salazar Slytherin's less-amiable side and centuries of rivalry between the houses here at Hogwarts to cloud our vision of good and evil, but the houses are not intended to divide along those lines. Nor do they. There have been great leaders of the light who were educated in Slytherin; just as there have been formidable dark wizards that have come out of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, or Ravenclaw. Wizards and witches will grow to be a sum of their choices, their skills, and the influences of those around them, whatever house they are sorted into. You should never doubt your admirable qualities, Harry, no matter which founder would have coveted them. You do yourself a disservice to dismiss them outright.'

Harry nodded again, feeling a little better. He glanced eagerly at the clock on the mantle, seeing that it was nearly half-seven.

'I think I ought to go and change,' said McGonagall to the pair of them, heading for the fireplace. 'You may head down to the hospital wing, Harry, if the headmaster is agreeable.'

'Of course,' said Dumbledore with a smile for Harry. Harry jumped up at once, setting his teacup down. But he had no sooner turned for the door than it burst open, a tall blond-haired man sweeping into the room.

Harry backed toward the headmaster again as he recognised the sneering face of Lucius Malfoy. The man looked as though he'd arrived in quite a hurry. His sleek blond hair was only half-combed, and his robes looked slightly wrinkled. And, bobbing around his half-shined shoes with a ragged polishing cloth was –

' _Dobby_?' asked Harry in surprise, staring at the little elf. The house-elf gave a sharp, terrified glance up at Harry. Then Mr Malfoy's unpolished boot swung into his tiny body, sending him squealing back toward the entryway. He looked furiously between the elf and Harry, but apparently the nature of his visit was more pressing than the need to determine how the pair were familiar with one another.

'Lucius,' Dumbledore said in a pleasant tone, rising from his chair and turning to greet Mr Malfoy. Harry could see that, though his tone was cordial, the headmaster's eyes were not twinkling in the slightest anymore. Professor McGonagall discarded her handful of floo powder back into the jar, sweeping over to lay a protective hand on Harry's shoulder.

Lucius Malfoy smirked at the sight.

'Dumbledore,' he acknowledged with an inclination of his head. 'And Minerva,' he added, with a nod for the Transfiguration professor as well. 'Interrupting a little scene of domestic bliss, I see. I do apologise – I should have taken more care with the hour.'

'No offence taken,' said Dumbledore easily, moving a step closer to Harry and McGonagall. 'We were just having a quick word with Harry about the events of yesterday. I take it you have heard the news?'

Lucius scowled, running a surreptitious hand over the snake's head that crowned his elaborate walking stick. 'Yes,' he said with a sneer. 'I have heard word that Potter was instrumental in the conclusion of these unfortunate events. So _lucky_ he was around to rescue the little girl.'

Harry scowled back, hating the man with all his heart.

'Indeed,' Dumbledore agreed, still in that tone of utmost civility. The tightening of the hand on Harry's shoulder told him that McGonagall was a little less easy in keeping with the charade.

'I see you saw fit to return, Dumbledore,' continued Lucius Malfoy coldly. 'Even though the school governors were clear on your suspension.'

'Well, you see,' said Dumbledore pleasantly, 'All eleven of the other school governors contacted me last night, as soon as they were informed that Arthur Weasley's daughter was taken by the heir of Slytherin. They were quite insistent on my immediate return, as was the Minister when I paid him a call. Some of the governors had most interesting stories as well, Lucius… it seems several were operating under the delusion that you might curse their loved ones, if they did not agree to my suspension in the first place.'

Mr Malfoy's scowl deepened, but he did not comment on Dumbledore's words. 'So, did you discover the culprit then, Dumbledore?' he asked, tearing his cold grey eyes away from Harry's face.

'We did,' Dumbledore said with a nod. 'It was the same person as last time, Lucius. Only this time around, Lord Voldemort chose to act through another, by means of this diary.'

He bent down to retrieve the black book from the table, holding it up to show Mr Malfoy while Harry gave his own smirk at Lucius's flinch upon hearing Lord Voldemort's name.

Mr Malfoy's eyes narrowed as he scrutinised the little book in Dumbledore's hand. Behind him, Harry saw Dobby acting very strangely. The elf was pointing from the diary to his master, then smacking a fist against his head. Harry stared, confused by the odd display. Then, suddenly, he understood. He nodded quickly to the little elf, who stopped his gesturing but stepped back from Mr Malfoy, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

'Of course, it was very lucky that Harry here was able to discover the diary,' said Dumbledore with a smile. 'Or poor Ginny Weasley may have been blamed for all those terrible attacks. And just imagine what effect that would have had on the Weasley family? A terrible mark upon the history of a house as old and pure as any in our world, I dare say, and a deadly blow to Arthur Weasley's attempts to secure pro-Muggle legislation in the Ministry…'

'Quite,' growled Mr Malfoy between clenched teeth. 'Well, I suppose there is little left to say then, Dumbledore,' he said, sweeping for the door with a nod of farewell.

'But, Mr Malfoy,' Harry called after him. McGonagall clenched tightly down on his shoulder again in warning, but he ignored it. Lucius Malfoy turned on the threshold, staring coldly at Harry.

'What is it, Potter?' he asked carelessly.

'Wouldn't you like to know how Ginny got the diary, sir?' Harry asked, in a deliberately innocent voice. Mr Malfoy took a few steps back toward Harry, his eyes blazing with fury.

'And how,' he spat, 'Would I know how the foolish brat got hold of it?'

'Because it was you who gave it to her,' said Harry brightly, smiling even while his eyes sang his anger. 'In Flourish and Blotts last August, when you took her Transfiguration book and fought with her father. You slipped it inside the cover, didn't you?'

Mr Malfoy looked ready to curse them all. His hand wrapped reflexively around the head of his walking stick again, but with a supreme effort he pulled his face into a smooth, blank mask, straightening up.

'An active imagination you have, boy,' he said patronisingly. 'But I think you'll find your theory impossible to prove.'

'Indeed,' Dumbledore agreed gravely, while Minerva uttered an expletive that caused Harry to jump a bit in shock. 'It will be impossible to prove anything – now Riddle is gone from the diary. But I think _you_ will find, Lucius, that my tolerance for such antics has quite reached its limits. If any more of Tom Riddle's _artefacts_ find themselves in the hands of my students, there will be grave consequences indeed for those responsible for putting them there.'

Dumbledore smiled benignly at Lucius as he finished. He had never raised his voice. He did not even look angry. But Harry felt the temperature of the room drop about ten degrees, as Dumbledore's aura of terrible power permeated the study. Lucius Malfoy shivered slightly in spite of himself.

'Come, Dobby!' he spat at the house-elf. And he swept for the door without another word, the little elf following with his shoulders slumped.

'Professor?' asked Harry quickly, an idea forming in his head as he watched the door swing shut behind Malfoy and Dobby. 'Er – could I give that diary _back_ to Lucius Malfoy?'

Dumbledore twinkled down at him. 'Certainly, Harry,' he agreed, passing over the book.

'Albus!' Minerva said in shock. 'He should not go near him – the man is dangerous, and possibly working for You Know –'

But Harry did not wait for her to finish her protest. He hurriedly grabbed the diary from the headmaster's hand, racing out the door of the study and down the moving spiral staircase. He shucked off a shoe as he waited for the stairs to stop, pulling off his sock and praying that his scheme might work.

'Mr Malfoy!' he called, bringing the blond man at the end of the corridor to an abrupt halt. Lucius swung round to glare at him, hand on his walking stick again.

'What do you want, Potter?' he asked in a scathing voice.

'To give you this back,' said Harry quickly, pressing the book into Lucius's chest.

Lucius grasped the package with a sneer, tearing back the sock and flinging it carelessly aside. He glared down at the ruined book in his hand, his eyes blazing, then his eyes travelled to Harry's again, an oddly contemplative expression on his face.

'It is too bad you've chosen as you have, Potter,' he said with a smirk. 'You could have known greatness – in another life. Instead, you will meet the same fate as your parents, one of these days. You cannot know the power of your choices, Harry Potter. And you will never defeat the enemies you have so unwisely created.'

Harry stared back defiantly, smiling darkly into Lucius Malfoy's sneering face.

'Come, Dobby!' the man called, sweeping toward the grand staircase again. Dobby did not move. 'Now – Dobby!' the man cried impatiently, one hand on the bannister as he whirled to glare at the elf.

But Dobby was holding Harry's discarded sock up before his face, his eyes alight with wonder.

'Dobby got a sock,' he said squeakily. Lucius Malfoy looked as though someone had punched him.

' _What?!_ ' he spat, staring at the elf.

'Master _gave_ Dobby a sock,' Dobby said, turning his transported gaze on his erstwhile master. 'Master threw it, to _Dobby_. And now… Dobby is free!'

There was one moment where Harry thought Mr Malfoy might vomit. And then the wizard drew his wand – drew it right out of the tip of that horrible snake's head cane, like a gladiator might unsheathe a sword. He pushed back off the staircase in the same graceful movement, pointing his weapon straight at Harry's heart. And Harry realised, with a sudden wave of horrified panic, that this man was much older, much darker, and much more skilled than the second-year boy who bore such a resemblance to him.

'You lost me my servant, you insolent brat,' he growled, advancing slowly toward Harry. Harry backed away a few steps, eying the wand with trepidation. 'You may have survived Him once, Harry Potter,' Lucius Malfoy continued. 'But you have no idea how quickly I can reunite you with your useless father and your mudblood mother.'

He raised the wand, mouth open to deliver a curse. Harry prepared to dodge, but at that moment there was a loud crack, and Lucius Malfoy toppled back toward the staircase, his wand flying loose from his grip as he fell.

Dobby stood in front of Harry, his hand still outstretched, one long mottled finger pointing threateningly at Lucius Malfoy. 'You shall not harm Harry Potter!' the elf shouted in his squeaky voice, glaring down at his disarmed master.

Lucius Malfoy pulled himself to his feet again, spitting hair out of his mouth and glaring at the pair of them. Harry braced himself for a second attack, but the man merely swore under his breath, recovering his wand from its place on the steps and sheathing it once more. With one last, contemptuous look, he swept away down the stairs and out of sight.

'Thanks, Dobby!' Harry said, breathing a sigh of relief as Mr Malfoy left. To his surprise, the little elf threw himself around Harry's middle, crying openly into his robes.

'Harry Potter saved Dobby!' the elf sobbed. 'Harry Potter _freed_ Dobby, and Dobby can never repay him for his kindness!'

'It was the least I could do, Dobby,' Harry said, patting him awkwardly on the back. 'You – er – were trying to help me all year… even if your methods weren't always, erm, quite on.'

Dobby pulled back, brushing the remaining tears from his eyes. 'Harry Potter is a great wizard,' he said with a watery smile. 'He is good, and brave, and he cares for those who are lowly. Dobby will always remember this, Harry Potter.'

'Right,' said Harry, feeling his face burn. 'Take care of yourself, Dobby.'

'And you, Harry Potter, sir,' said the elf. He gave Harry a low bow, and, with a crack, he was gone.

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Albus waited until after the feast that evening to do what he knew he must.

He smiled and rejoiced with all the rest, giving an embarrassed Harry and a completely thrilled Ron Weasley two hundred points apiece for their heroic rescue mission (and ignoring Snape's sour look beside him); announcing that Professor Lockhart would not return to teach the following term; and cancelling the school examinations, with the exception of O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. level testing, to general applause from the celebrating students. He looked on in fervent approval as Hermione Granger was hugged and doted upon by her two best friends, as Penelope Clearwater received an enthusiastic welcome back by the usually stoic Percy Weasley – much to his twin brothers' astonishment and amusement, as Ginny Weasley shyly offered a plate of pasties to Colin Creevey, and as Ernie MacMillan started a round of cheering at the Hufflepuff table when Justin Finch-Fletchley reclaimed his usual seat. Best of all was Hagrid's appearance, halfway through pudding, looking hale and hearty despite his weeks in wizard prison. Albus led the school in a resounding round of applause and greetings, happily conjuring an extra-large chair at his left for the returning gamekeeper, and pouring Hagrid a generous goblet of mead from his own private stores.

All was right at Hogwarts again, as Albus had hoped and expected.

But now… now there were things that must be seen to.

'Minerva,' Albus said quietly at the professor's ear, as the last of the students finally headed off to bed. 'I have business I must attend to this evening, my dear. Will you keep an eye on things here for a few hours?'

'Of course, Albus,' Minerva said, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. He nodded reassuringly at her, and slipped quietly from the Great Hall, back toward his quarters.

Severus was waiting for him, pacing back and forth in front of the desk with a look of distinct irritation.

'I do hope you are not still cross with me about the events of last night,' Albus said mildly as he shut the office door behind him. 'You know that Poppy or Minerva would have tracked you down anyway, even if I had not insisted. And concussions are not to be trifled with.'

'No, Albus,' said Severus, waving an impatient hand. 'It is not that. I _am_ a little irritated that you saw fit to reward Potter and Weasley for their insufferable recklessness, but I suppose I should not be surprised.'

Albus chuckled a bit. 'Ah, Severus,' he said, shrugging his shoulders in defeat. 'They acted somewhat foolishly, of course, but at least they came to you first. And you cannot deny that both were instrumental in bringing an end to these unfortunate events.'

'Indeed,' Severus forced out, looking as though he'd been forced to offer his hand to Professor Trelawney. 'But that is not my primary concern at the moment either, Albus,' he insisted, stopping his pacing to face the headmaster. 'The diary,' he said pointedly.

Albus sighed. 'Yes,' he agreed, turning for the desk and seating himself behind it. He gestured that Severus should take the chair opposite, and the Potions master sat stiffly on the edge of the cushion. 'That is why I called you here tonight, Severus,' Albus admitted. He tapped lightly on the front of the second drawer in the desk, and it sprang open. From within, he retrieved the book in question, setting it out on the polished wood between them. Severus looked down at the diary in some surprise.

'I was under the impression from Minerva that you had given this back to Potter,' he said, raising an eyebrow. Albus shook his head.

'A copy only,' he admitted. 'Though an excellent one, if I do say so myself. Harry does not know, and I would prefer the information be kept between us for the time being.'

Severus nodded slowly, his eyes still on the book. 'I have never heard of magic like what Potter described in this, Albus,' he said apprehensively. 'Even in my time with… with the Dark Lord. A mere memory that can think and act independently? A memory that can possess the mind of another? A memory that can drain the life of a child?'

'Not life,' Albus disagreed. 'At least… not exactly, although I believe Ginny Weasley would certainly have been killed at the end. Her _soul_ is what Tom Riddle was feeding off of.'

Severus looked confused. 'Is there much of a difference?' he asked. 'If the girl would have perished anyway? It seems the effects are much the same.'

'In some ways,' Albus acknowledged. 'But I think the difference is essential.' He paused for a moment, running a hand over the charred centre of the book. He worded his next query very carefully. 'Did Lord Voldemort –'

' _Please_ do not speak the name, Albus,' said Severus tensely.

Albus ignored him. 'Did he ever speak of the diary in your presence?'

Severus shook his head. 'No, not that I can recall,' he said. 'But if Lucius was truly responsible for its keeping, it was not likely to be information shared with the larger group. The Dark Lord, as you know, was not well-known for his confidences. He did not boast of his secrets openly with all his Death Eaters. He always preferred to confide only what was absolutely necessary, and only to those he needed for his immediate plans. The Malfoys were part of the inner circle – I was not. I was quite young, and a half-blood by birth. My only true value lay in the information I had given him and – potentially – in whatever information I might have gleaned from my connection to you… which was not long in existence before the Dark Lord fell. I would not have been privy to the information, if there had indeed been a scheme surrounding the use of this diary.'

'And do you suspect there was?' asked Albus, considering Severus's reaction closely. Severus frowned.

'I… imagine so,' he said finally. 'Or, rather, I doubt Lucius would have worked out on his own how to use the diary. He was never much for patience to decipher a puzzle. I would be surprised, however, if the Dark Lord intended Lucius to act on his own in this.'

'No,' Albus agreed. 'That is my suspicion as well. I had been toying with the theory that Lord Voldemort –' he ignored Severus's renewed growl –'left the diary in Lucius's possession before he fell from power, probably for safe-keeping until he decided to reopen the Chamber of Secrets. Lucius believes the Dark Lord finished, does he not?'

Severus nodded curtly in reply.

'So then, perhaps, he decided he might as well use the diary to his own advantage. It would have served a dual purpose, with the Ministry currently increasing their raids on the older wizarding houses known to have an ancient affinity for illegal magics, and Arthur Weasley's attempts this past year to secure Muggle-friendly legislation in the Ministry.'

'That would seem to make sense, Albus,' Severus acknowledged. 'But what, exactly, _is_ this diary? Did you run the usual detection spells?'

'I did,' said Albus, carefully. 'But there is no way to access the original spell. The basilisk venom Harry injected has damaged the diary beyond repair – there are no traces of dark magic left within it.'

Severus scowled. 'I did not recognise it,' he repeated, looking seriously at Albus over the blackened remains of the book. 'I do not like it.'

'Nor do I,' Albus said heavily. He rose to his feet, stowing the ruined diary in his pocket.

'I must step out for a time, Severus,' he said, retrieving his travelling cloak from a hook. 'Minerva will be watching the school for me. Was there anything else, before I go?'

'No, headmaster,' said Severus, looking as curious as Minerva had as he watched Albus pull on the cloak.

'Very well then,' said Albus. 'Make sure you rest up now,' he added with a twinkling smile, and he swept from the room before Severus could retort.

The weight of the diary was heavy in his pocket as he made his way silently across the grounds and through the gates. He did not particularly wish to make this journey again, but he knew it was the necessary course of action. With a sigh, he turned on the spot, feeling his way into nonbeing as he apparated to Nurmengard once more.

The air in Germany was far thicker and warmer than the late spring of Scotland had been. Albus found he was growing hot in his travelling cloak, as he made the slow walk up to the fortress.

The aged house-elf met him at the door. This time, Albus's visit was expected. He had sent word late last night, once Harry and Minerva had gone up to bed. Lakai showed him up to the highest tower, and Albus let himself inside.

'Good evening, Albus,' Grindelwald greeted him, seated at the little sitting table this time. Albus nodded his own head in greeting and chose the seat farthest from his companion. Gellert gave a predatory smile, clearly aware of Albus's unease.

'You might as well be comfortable,' he insisted, lounging back a bit in his own chair. 'Why don't you take off your cloak, at least. I imagine this visit will not be particularly quick.'

Albus frowned, but unclasped the cloak, draping it over the back of his chair. Lakai arrived with tea and crumpets, and this time Albus allowed Gellert to pour and serve. He took his cup with a muttered word of thanks, sipping at the warm comfort. Gellert did not press him for an explanation on his visit, though Albus could feel the intensity of his interest. He knew that the headmaster would come to it in time.

At last, Albus set the teacup aside, and withdrew the ruined diary from his pocket. He placed it carefully upon the table, pushing it a bit toward his companion. Gellert snatched it up eagerly, rifling the blackened pages. He stared up in confusion at Albus when he realised the book was blank.

'Gifting me a cast-off diary, Albus?' he said, sarcastically. 'This is rather unexpected. I am not so good with dates, having little variance in my monotonous routine… but I remember well enough that my birthday is in November.'

Albus gave a slight smile. 'This is the object of which we spoke last time, Gellert,' he said softly. 'Until yesterday, I believe it played host to a portion of Voldemort's soul.'

'Indeed?' asked Grindelwald with renewed interest. He closed the book, fingering the peeling gold letters on the front cover. 'T. M. Riddle,' he read out. 'A token, I gather, from his Hogwarts years? The dates are quite old.'

'He created the horcrux at sixteen,' Albus confirmed darkly. He saw Grindelwald's momentary surprise.

'So young,' the wizard mused, still running a finger across the diary's cover. 'I would not have thought it possible – to split the soul so successfully while one's magic was still immature.'

'The usual rules of good and evil do not seem to apply to Tom Riddle,' Albus acknowledged heavily, leaning back in his chair. 'And sixteen is not so young… some wizards' magic matures quite early, and Tom Riddle was already fairly advanced when he arrived at Hogwarts. Before then, even.'

'But you have destroyed it,' Gellert pointed out, his fingers burying into the hole at the centre of the book. 'There is no trace of darkness within its pages now. What did you use, Albus?' he asked curiously.

'Basilisk venom,' Albus replied. 'Directly from the fang of the basilisk itself. Slytherin's monster, in fact.'

Gellert nodded pensively, crossing his legs in the chair. He stared hard at Albus for a moment. 'And how did that go?' he asked.

'Pardon?'

'What happened, when you stabbed the soul from the book? Did it try to deter you? Did it prey upon your weaknesses and whisper siren songs to your desires? Did the horcrux die quietly, Albus? Or did you witness death and destruction at its most terrible?'

Albus swallowed, forcing himself to return Grindelwald's shrewd stare. 'The diary was possessing a young girl – a first-year student at the school. By the time it was discovered, Tom Riddle's soul had managed to feed off of the child's enough to leave the pages of the book, even enough to wield some amount of independent magic. When the diary was destroyed, the shade of Riddle was likewise vanquished, and the child's life-force returned to her. She has recovered, physically, and will be whole again mentally as well, with time.'

Grindelwald smirked a little as he considered Albus. 'You did not destroy the horcrux, Albus.'

'It has been vanquished,' Albus repeated, frowning.

Gellert nodded his head. 'It has,' he agreed. 'But not by your hand.'

Albus felt uneasy. Here again, the wizard was showcasing his uncanny ability to see through to the truths Albus would rather keep buried – to guess, correctly, at the heart of the matter.

'It is unimportant,' he insisted, straightening his robes. 'The salient point is that the horcrux is no more, nor is the monster of Slytherin. The Chamber of Secrets has been sealed forever.'

'Perhaps,' Gellert allowed. He turned the diary over in his hands, still contemplating it. 'But I think you know that it is _very_ important who had a hand in destroying this evil,' he countered. 'And I wonder that you could be so protective of the hero… to conceal his identity in this manner. Taking undeserved credit for another's accomplishments was never your vice, Albus. I wonder… was it, perhaps, your Harry Potter? The Golden Child?'

Albus hesitated a second too long, and Gellert's smile widened. 'I see…' he said. 'I see. Well, perhaps you are right to hold him in such high regard, my friend. Perhaps he will be your Saviour after all. It would have taken uncommon skill to successfully defeat such a powerful magical artefact, and no doubt to destroy the basilisk of Slytherin, as I presume was also his doing?'

Albus nodded stiffly. He did not see the point in prolonging the charade. Grindelwald set the diary aside at last, leaning casually back in his chair.

'So… why is it that you are come tonight, Albus? It cannot be merely a chance to confirm the theory on which we have been working since your last visit.'

'No,' Albus agreed. 'Not entirely. I find myself considering what you spoke of at our last meeting with renewed concern – the possibility that Tom Riddle may have created more than one horcrux; split his soul on multiple occasions.'

Gellert nodded. 'I think it more than likely,' he said quietly. 'You cannot have failed to notice, especially now, in knowing about this diary, that this was meant to be as much a weapon as a safeguard. Certainly the nature of the horcrux itself reinforces that understanding. It is clear it had an intended purpose – to reopen your Chamber of Secrets. Such a mission would have had to be deliberately imparted when the horcrux was created.'

'Indeed,' Albus agreed, inclining his head. 'Which begs the question – how many did Lord Voldemort seek to create? What are they? And _where_ are they hidden now?'

'An excellent set of postures,' said Grindelwald, as lightly as if he and Albus were debating the theory of cross-time apparition over Sunday pints. 'And, luckily for you, I have not been idle in my solitude since you last condescended to appear in my prison.'

'Oh?' asked Albus, intrigued. 'And what have you discovered?'

Gellert did not seem in a hurry to share, as he selected a second crumpet and refilled his tea. Albus could tell that he was enjoying keeping the headmaster enthralled – waiting to impart his information. It was a solid three minutes before Grindelwald spoke again.

'Tell me, Albus,' he said quietly, between mouthfuls of crumpet. 'Why do you think you were able to defeat me, all those years ago?'

Albus was startled by the question. And he was quite wary of the direction this conversation was headed. There were things he did not want to know… doors he never wanted to reopen. He knew that Grindelwald was aware of his fears.

Trying for lightness, Albus smiled pleasantly. 'Oh, a bit of this and that,' he said airily. 'You were an _excellent_ opponent, I will say. But, perhaps, I was just a _shade_ more skilful, in the end.'

Grindelwald, to his surprise, gave a small, mirthless laugh. 'Hardly, Albus,' he disagreed. 'We were evenly matched. It should not have been possible, you know. _I_ had the wand. _I_ had the power. But I had grown arrogant – complacent, in my years of supremacy. I was not unprepared for the idea that we might one day face each other in battle… oh no, I expected it, I think. But I did not prepare for it, as you had done. I placed my faith in my superior weaponry, rather than my superior preparation. And that made the difference.'

'How so, in your theory?' asked Albus, intrigued.

Gellert gave a half-smile. 'You _knew_ me, Albus. We had once known each other, of course. We were quite intimately acquainted, in our youth and our shared aspirations. And I like to think that I understand the way you think, the way your magic works; but perhaps more now than I did back then. Now, I have endless hours to consider the matter, and little ambition left in me. When we met that day, you had years of knowledge and understanding that I did not deem important – to my detriment, and your triumph. You understood my desires and my dreams… my strengths and my weaknesses… even my family history.'

Albus refilled his own cup, contemplating the truth of the words. 'You may have a point, Gellert. But are you suggesting,' he asked, judiciously, 'That I do not understand Tom Riddle in such a way?'

'I am sure that you _do_ understand him,' Gellert disagreed. 'But you did not grow up with Tom Riddle, as you did with me. You understand him as a teacher might a closely-watched pupil. As the older generation contemplates the follies of the next… and that will not be enough. You will have to go deeper, if you wish to defeat him. If you wish your boy to triumph at the last.'

Albus sipped at his tea, thinking it over carefully.

'And what is it that you have discovered, Gellert?' he asked at last.

Grindelwald smiled, crossing his arms over his thin chest.

'You say that Riddle created this horcrux at sixteen,' he said, pointing a finger at the diary again. Albus nodded in agreement. 'Do you know what he did that summer, after leaving your school?'

Albus frowned. 'I have no idea,' he admitted. 'I assume that he returned to the Muggle orphanage where he grew up. That is where he usually spent his summers.'

Gellert shook his head. 'It is… possible,' he admitted. 'But I rather doubt it, in light of the present information. There was a curious incident that July, in a small town called Little Hangleton in the north of England. I ran across the information as I was looking into this Tom Riddle more carefully. Do you know of what I speak?'

Albus thought back, his fingers pressed together as he considered… 1943 was many years ago.

'The name of the village rings a bell,' he admitted. 'I believe there was something in the _Prophet_ , actually – a treble murder of three Muggles, if my recollection is correct. The Ministry arrested a local wizard for the crime, a man who had apparently long hated one of the victims. He is probably still in Azkaban, if he remains alive today. The paper did not mention much in the way of specifics… there were far worse crimes happening on the continent, at that time.'

He gave his companion a significant look. Grindelwald merely shrugged his acknowledgement.

'Did you catch the names of the murdered Muggles?' he asked, raising a sardonic eyebrow.

'They were not published,' said Albus with a frown.

Grindelwald smirked. 'Not in the wizarding _Prophet_ , no,' he clarified. 'But the Muggle papers covered the same story in some depth. Your Ministry did not bother feeding some explanation to the Muggles in the village, you see, and they were quite enthralled by the mystery. A local caretaker was blamed for the murders in the court of public opinion… but, of course, Avada Kedavra leaves no trace that Muggles can detect, does it?'

'Enough, Gellert,' said Albus wearily. 'You have made your point. Who were the Muggle victims?'

Gellert smirked at Albus's uncharacteristic show of impatience. 'An elderly couple and their grown son,' he explained. 'Quite wealthy, apparently, though disliked for their lack of local generosity. The son's name… was Tom Riddle.'

Albus felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. Gellert's smile widened as he watched the significance register with the headmaster.

'He created a horcrux…' Albus said slowly, 'With the death of his father and grandparents?'

'So it would appear,' Gellert acknowledged with a nod. 'It seems fitting, in a way. The father had abandoned him to an orphanage… he was a Muggle – worthless in his son's eyes. It was a sort of poetic vengeance.'

And even in the wizard's tone of derision, Albus could tell that Gellert Grindelwald held a certain respect for the young Tom Riddle's style.

The revelation unnerved him.

'I should be going,' he said, rising from his seat. 'I will be missed at Hogwarts. But thank you for your information, Gellert. It is a good lead, at least.'

Gellert did not rise from his seat immediately, but continued to scrutinise Albus. 'One other matter I wished to speak on,' he said, his gaze intensifying. 'What of your Golden Boy, Albus?'

'What of him?' Albus asked, a little more sharply than he had intended. He did not want this man any more informed on Harry than he already seemed to be.

'It is nearly the end of your term, surely,' Gellert pointed out.

'Yes,' said Albus. 'Term will end in just a few weeks.'

'And what will you do with him then, Albus?' Gellert asked, his violet eyes glittering slightly. Albus hesitated, and Gellert nodded again, as though he had just proved an undefeatable point.

'His mother's sacrifice was his salvation,' he said. It was a statement, not a query, and Albus did not bother to contradict.

'Her protection flows in his veins,' Gellert continued. 'It is old magic – and strong magic. It gives him some measure of defence… a shield against Voldemort.'

'Yes,' Albus acknowledged. There was hardly any point in denying it.

'Then there is only one option now, isn't there?'

'I cannot do that, Gellert,' said Albus quietly. 'I will find another way. You have no idea of the harm that child suffered before I came for him.'

'Do you wish to ensure his protection?' Gellert asked bluntly, his violet eyes boring into Albus's blue ones. 'Or will you deny him his mother's gift?'

Albus looked away, unable to hold the gaze.

'You know what you must do, Albus,' Gellert murmured softly. 'You just do not wish to do it.' He smirked at Albus's frown, a knowing look in his eyes. 'It is difficult isn't it, my friend? Making such a choice. It eats away at you… callouses your precious soul – the sacrifices you have to make for the Greater Good.'

Albus turned for the door; hating himself for knowing, in his heart, that Gellert Grindelwald had an excellent point.


	30. Entre La Espada y La Pared

**A/N:** Well… here we are! The _final_ chapter in Child of Hogwarts: Part One. I will probably go back over the summer and read through for any grammatical errors or anything, so won't mark this story 'complete' just yet… but the first chapter of the sequel (which is rather short, more a prologue than anything) I will post simultaneously with this… just to give a flavour to readers of the next book. I do hope you enjoy the conclusion – it has been a wonderful journey to write!

Another proverb-based title… this translates literally to 'Between a Sword and a Wall,' but it is the Spanish version of what we usually phrase in English as 'Between a Rock and a Hard Place' – an impossible choice.

Lastly, there are review responses below, and the second is somewhat of a novel and contains some potential spoilers… so skip over and into the story if you are sensitive to that!

 **AECM:** First off, thank you for your review! I do apologise, as I'm sure you will be a little unhappy with me after this chapter… I promise I _do_ have storyline reasons for deciding to go this direction with Harry/Albus/Minerva, however, and I think we will gain a lot from the way the story unfolds following Albus's decision here. I'm not a big personal fan of blood adoption storylines – they work really well in other people's fanfiction, don't get me wrong, and I read and like a lot of stories that go that route … but it just isn't the sort of writing that suits my envisioning of this particular story, mainly because there isn't a lot of canon support for that type of magic. That said, I think that Albus and Minerva both view Harry very much as a surrogate child, and I think that plays heavily into their characterisation. I think it also highlights Albus's personal struggle with this: sometimes, to protect your child, you make very difficult choices – ones you hate yourself for making. There's an interesting biblical story on that point that's rather well-known, that deals with a child claimed by two mothers. King Solomon tells the women that if they cannot resolve their dispute over the child, he will simply slice the baby in half and give each mother their share. In the end, one mother tearfully allows the other to have custody, proving to Solomon that she is the child's true mother – because she is the one willing to give up her world to ensure his survival. It is somewhat of my inspiration for Albus's difficult decision here. But, do not worry – your concerns on the matter will certainly be shared by some of our characters.

 **babascoop:** Thank you again for your great review! Grindelwald… he _is_ fun, isn't he? Such an interesting character to explore, because we glimpse him so little in canon, and then most of that only through others' POV. I had originally intended to wait on his introduction a bit longer and do it in a flashback – but in the end contemporaneous revelation of my take on him seemed more prudent; Book 2 is where the horcrux theory first comes to Albus's attention, after all (aside, perhaps, from suspicions over Harry), and it seemed to me most likely that Albus's quest to uncover information on Tom Riddle's background would have begun around this time – once Harry presents him with the diary. And I'd always found it rather suspect that Dumbledore would not have had more of an inkling about the nature of the Chamber of Secrets' opening… so the Grindelwald storyline is my way of closing that loop. I like your assessment of their relationship – it is quite true. He's older than Dumbledore, and arguably just as clever… maybe more so, depending on who's side you believe.

So here's my take on that. In my view, Grindelwald is a 'Shade of Darkness' (hence the title to his introductory chapter); like all wizards, in a way, but perhaps more infamously so given his past. He is not _entirely_ bad – nor, by any stretch of the imagination, is he 'good.' I think Albus feels very wrong-footed in Grindelwald's presence, for sure. Gellert is slightly older than he – and had rather the upper hand in their brief friendship in their youth. Dumbledore was his contemporary and his friend, but Gellert was the leader, in that particular time. I think Albus can recognise that more fully now, in retrospect, than he could at the time, when he was swept up in the ideas Gellert was postulating, and the idea of Grindelwald himself. Obviously, that friendship collapsed with Ariana's tragic death, bringing Albus very abruptly back to his shattered reality, and leaving him with a lifelong fear that Grindelwald has the information on who it was who actually cast the fatal blow. Every time he sees him, that fear preys on his mind, which puts him immediately on the defensive in Gellert's presence. Grindelwald certainly knows this… but he also hasn't offered the information. Not yet, at least.

Meanwhile, Gellert Grindelwald was defeated by Albus. And Albus took his wand, and then locked him away for fifty years of solitude in the prison _he_ had built, with their shared motto on its gates. Grindelwald speaks of poetic justice in Chapter 29… this, in a way, is Albus's. Gellert Grindelwald took 'For the Greater Good' – which really, even now, often describes Dumbledore's actions… and certainly manifests in self-sacrifice and goodness more generally – and he twisted it; morphed it into something terrible and unutterable. And then Albus brought him down, and 'righted' the purpose of the motto again by forcing him to Nurmengard. The taking of his wand is rather a two-fold gesture. For one (most obviously) it is, as we know, the Elder Wand. And Albus took it to master it – in canon, he explains this eventually as a desire to save others from its power. But I think there is also a simpler effect of this taking, though one less unique to Grindelwald alone. Wands are a symbol of the magic of a wizard – his most jealously guarded possession and the source of most (if not all, depending on his wandless abilities) of his power. To deprive a wizard or witch of their wand is the ultimate symbol of disgrace and distrust – true removal from wizarding society; the lowliest of humiliations. Personally, I equate the moment a wizard's wand is taken or snapped to how submitting to a cavity search might feel for a muggle prisoner entering incarceration – there is nothing more degrading or horrifying.

But I've digressed, somewhat. Grindelwald… he _does_ seem to know an awful lot, doesn't he? There are a few aspects to that knowledge – some of which I'll comment on, and some of which I'll let unfold in these books. On his ability to one-up Albus, I'll say this. I do not think Grindelwald hates Albus Dumbledore. In fact, I think in many ways he _still_ considers Albus somewhat of a friend, if only because Grindelwald is highly intelligent and fascinated by magical theory and unsolved mysteries. I envision him as an absolute Ravenclaw (had he attended Hogwarts). He has always respected Albus as a mage with whom he can match wits, which in Grindelwald's worldview is the most important of qualities in a wizard's 'worth.' It's interesting to see his commentary on Tom Riddle – because it mirrors this outlook, I think. He shows his fascination, even perhaps respect, where Riddle's actions transcend more quests for power for power's sake – like the realisation that he murdered his father and grandparents to create his first horcrux. He is less impressed when Riddle shows his limitations – like when he berates Voldemort's desire to obtain the elixir of life, because he does not feel that Voldemort understands what immortality truly _is_ for a wizard. Grindelwald never sought to create horcruxes… which I always found intriguing. It wasn't his style. He wanted the Deathly Hallows… oh, absolutely. But he wanted them to enhance his power, his domination, and his mystique. He was, in some ways, more intriguing and complex a Dark Lord than Voldemort himself, because he did not seek power from a place of pure evil, but because of his own warped sense about what the Greater Good was – what would move wizarding kind forward into a new, more (in his view) enlightened age. I think his comments on conscience to Albus are enlightening in this regard… Voldemort lacks conscience, and lacks the ability to understand love; Grindelwald is not without conscience, but has a very different moral compass than Albus… and I suspect he understands love and human relations just as adeptly as the headmaster. He would never have underestimated Lily's sacrifice, in the fatal way Lord Voldemort did.

But I should redirect now… before I ruin potential fodder for a Dumbledore-Harry conversation down the road. This is growing a little too contemplative.

In any case, Grindelwald is, as we have seen, certainly bitter about his own defeat. And surprised, a little. He has spent fifty years brooding on that day he lost everything… trying to decipher the reasoning behind it – because he truly does believe he and Albus were evenly matched, or even that he himself was the more skilful of the two. And he had the Elder Wand. His self-assessment has led him to the conclusion that Albus's triumph can be attributed to the old mantra, 'know your enemy' – that Albus understood him, and understood the way he practised magic… whereas Grindelwald put his faith in the wand and his own power. I don't think he truly harbours hope that he will ever be free to retry the duel, but he has become obsessed, over his years in solitude, with rectifying his mistake. I think he sees it as an intellectual failure; something he cannot abide by. So he has made a study of Albus – Albus's relationships, his school, and now his connection with Harry. _How_ exactly Grindelwald gains access to some of his information – apart from the news he is sanctioned to have and the books he has been locked away with – remains a mystery right now (though we will learn more, in due course). But certainly a great deal of his insight and his ability to outmatch Albus in a battle of wits can be attributed to his years of obsession with the headmaster, and his intimate knowledge of how Albus's mind works. Whereas Dumbledore, in contrast, is constantly distracted in his meetings with Grindelwald by his fear that his sister's death might resurface… and he has tried valiantly to shut down his thoughts on the man ever since he locked him away in Nurmengard all those years ago. It's an interesting paradigm, because Albus is quite firm with Harry that supressing and ignoring one's fears is wholly incompatible with learning to overcome them. Yet he himself seems unable to follow this wisdom.

Dobby… I actually really like your idea! Unfortunately, I have already mapped out the conclusion to the Harry-Dursley dilemma, but I will promise not to keep Dobby in absentia until Year Four. In fact, I've had an idea for the house-elf that I think you might enjoy… though we likely won't get to see it unfold until a few chapters into Part Two of this series.

And… I'll stop there. That was _much_ longer a response than even I had anticipated… I apologise for the run-on thoughts! But I get a little caught up sometimes in the theory behind these characters.

Enjoy the final chapter!

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 **DISCLAIMER:** Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

 **Chapter 30: Entre La Espada y La Pared**

'Albus, you cannot be serious!' Minerva snapped over tea on the morning before the end of term. The sky was a beautiful blue, the grounds outside bursting with summer bloom and warmth. It was an incongruous fit for Minerva's current mood.

'A week only, Minerva,' Albus reasoned in a placating tone. 'And I will not send him on his own. But we must renew the blood protections. If we have learned anything from this term, it is how important it is to keep Harry safe, in every way we know how. And the best defence he currently has is his mother's sacrifice… if we allow that to fade, he will lose it.'

Minerva scoffed. She could not believe that she was hearing this – from the man who had torn Harry from that horrible place himself.

'You told me nearly twelve years ago,' she said, through clenched teeth, 'That the protection would only last as long as Harry called his aunt's house home. It is quite clear that "home" for Harry is Hogwarts, not Privet Drive. So the magic is likely nullified already,' she reasoned.

Albus shook his head. 'It is not nearly so clear cut as that,' he admitted. 'That was an over-simplification on my fault, I fear. The protection will remain intact until Harry comes of age, as long as he can claim some measure of shelter with Petunia or Dudley Dursley, who share his mother's blood. He need only return once a year or so, and only for a brief period… but he _must_ return in order to ensure the protection continues.'

Minerva felt fury as she had never experienced before. Right now, in this moment, she hated this man.

'How _can_ you even consider such a thing, Albus?' she railed. 'Surely no manner of protection is worth the sacrifice of Harry's wellbeing, of his happiness? You witnessed his state when you brought him back to Hogwarts last summer. The man _broke his cheekbone_ , for goodness sake! I cannot believe you would even entertain the idea of returning Harry to his arms!'

'It is necessary, Minnie,' said Albus wearily. 'It is for the –'

'For _what,_ Albus?' she cut across him, her voice growing waspish in her indignation. 'For the _Greater Good_?' she guessed, watching his face arrest. She smiled in bitter satisfaction, guessing the truth from his expression. 'Haven't enough lives been lost already in pursuit of that undertaking, Albus?' she asked him pointedly.

Albus recoiled immediately, as though Minerva had struck him a fatal blow. Even in her tirade, she slightly regretted the words already. They _never_ spoke of Ariana. Not ever. And she knew that the girl's death was Albus's greatest regret.

'Albus,' she started, in a slightly calmer tone.

'Do you think this is easy for me, Minerva?' Albus asked her, very softly. 'Do you think I rejoice in this decision… that I want to send him back to that terrible place? Do you think I want to tell _Harry_ that he has to return? I do not.'

He sank wearily into the chair behind his desk, his head in his hands. Minerva watched him in silence, feeling only slightly less angry. She could not bring herself to go to him or offer comfort.

'I will not leave him there alone,' Albus repeated. 'And I will not leave him there long. A week, at most. That should be sufficient to ensure the protection continues for another year.'

'A week is seven days too long in that house, Albus,' said Minerva tensely. 'He will not forgive you for it. _I_ will never forgive you for it. Even _Severus_ will not approve.'

'I know,' said Albus, the weariness even more pronounced in his tone. 'I do not forgive myself, Minerva. But I have to think of Harry's future… and the future for all of us. Two years Harry has been back in the wizarding world, and both years he has had to face Lord Voldemort. Voldemort will not remain in shadow much longer, Minerva. And I will not deny Harry a modicum of potential protection when that day comes… not even if it comes at the cost of his trust in me.'

'And if it comes at the cost of his childhood, Albus?' Minerva countered. 'What then? You are making the same mistake you made nearly twelve years ago – when you left him on those vicious peoples' doorstep like the milk delivery!'

Albus sighed, running a hand over his eyes. He looked utterly exhausted, and suddenly very old.

'This is not easy for me, Minerva,' he repeated. 'And I understand your position. But I am _not_ leaving Harry there forever, and he will be watched constantly. I myself will visit with the family before I allow him to return there. And I will retrieve him the moment we can ensure the protection endures… and bring him straight back home. I promise.'

Minerva wiped angry tears from her eyes, still glaring at the man she adored. She couldn't stand another minute here, not now.

She turned for the door.

'When will you tell him?' she asked roughly, reaching for the handle.

'I will meet him after luncheon,' said Albus heavily. 'I've already sent a note. Will you join us?'

'I'll be here,' she agreed. 'But for his sake, Albus, not for yours. And I think you will sleep better alone until he has returned.'

She slammed the office door behind her, not waiting for a reply.

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Severus was roused by an insistent pounding on his door, much earlier than his normal waking hour. Grumbling in annoyance, he shuffled into his dressing gown and out of the bedchamber, cursing whatever idiotic brat felt the need to interrupt his morning at such an ungodly time.

'What?' he growled, throwing open the door. To his astonishment, he found Minerva on the threshold, her face tearful and panicked.

'He's sending him back,' she spat at him by way of greeting, already pushing her way into the room. Severus stepped out of her way, shutting the door to his quarters again. Minerva began pacing in agitation in front of the fireplace, pulling at her usually impeccable hair. Severus noted that she too was still dressed in her nightclothes.

'What are you on about, Minerva?' he asked her wearily. It was far too early for guessing games.

'Albus is sending him back, Severus!' she repeated, quite hysterical.

Severus rolled his eyes again, conjuring a steaming mug of coffee for himself and tea for Minerva. He pressed the cup into her hands, practically forcing her into a chair. The incessant pacing was giving him a migraine.

'If you would, Minerva,' he said, trying to keep the irritation from his voice. 'I think you may need to take a step backward in your explanation.'

' _Harry_ , Severus,' said Minerva, as though this were obvious. 'Albus is sending Harry Potter back – to his aunt and uncle's house.'

Severus froze, lowering his coffee down to the table slowly. He was certain he had misheard. 'That… that is not possible, Minerva,' he said softly. 'Albus would never do such a thing. He knows what went on in that house.'

She growled in frustration, sounding much more like Severus than herself. Severus rather thought her hair was in imminent danger of being torn from her scalp, the way she continued to pull at it.

'I _know_ that!' she shouted at him. 'And if you'd told me, before this morning, that he would _ever_ even _consider_ doing so, I'd have said you had lost your senses! But he _is_ , Severus – at least, he is for a week. He is quite intent upon it – I could not talk him down.'

'But _why_?' breathed Severus. 'Why would he do such a thing? I was under the impression that he rather enjoyed having the brat under his thumb all summer.'

It was a sign of Minerva's supreme distress that she did not take issue with his characterisation – neither of Harry Potter nor the headmaster's intentions. Instead, she threw up her hands in defeat. 'He is insistent that the blood wards Lily cast with her sacrifice must remain intact, for Harry's own sake. He is convinced that without the protection, we risk Harry's safety if Voldemort should rise to power again. So he intends to send Harry back for a week, to renew the protection for another year.'

Severus felt some of his discomfort ease. 'It's only a week, Minerva,' he reasoned.

She glared darkly at him. 'Would you say that so lightly, Severus,' she asked in a quiet voice, 'If I told you that you must spend an extra week in the company of your father, at Harry's age?'

Severus snarled, returning her glare in kind. Minerva knew better than to speak of Tobias Snape.

'That is neither here nor there, Minerva,' he snapped back.

'I'll take that as a "no" then, Severus,' she said primly. She rose from her seat again, pushing the tea aside. 'Albus is in his office for the next,' she glanced at the clock on the mantle, 'Half-hour or so, I would guess. Should you wish to speak with him.'

And she left.

Severus waited five minutes. Long enough to finish his coffee, and change into something more presentable. He would not have Albus think that he'd been worried enough about the Golden Brat to rush up to the headmaster's office in his dressing gown at Minerva's pronouncement. There'd be plenty of time before breakfast to deter the headmaster from this incredibly foolish scheme.

But he also took the floo… Just in case.

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Albus was not entirely surprised to see Severus appear unannounced, stepping out of the hearth with twenty minutes or so to go before they were due in the Great Hall. He had suspected Minerva would relay her displeasure at the first opportunity.

'Severus,' he greeted the Potions master. 'Would you care for a cup of tea before we head down?'

'No, thank you, Albus,' Severus said stiffly, crossing his arms across his chest. He made no move to sit.

'Was there something you wished to see me about?' Albus asked politely, though he was sure he already knew the answer. Predictably, Severus's eyes flashed his annoyance as effectively as an uttered oath.

'Minerva has just been to see me,' Severus said smoothly. 'She was rather upset with you.'

Albus sighed. 'Yes,' he acknowledged. 'I suspected as much. Won't you have a seat, Severus?'

'I would prefer to stand,' Severus replied coldly. Albus frowned – point one for Minerva, then.

'Severus,' he said in a serious voice. 'You know why I need to do this.'

'No, frankly Albus, I have no idea,' Severus disagreed. 'You berate me for my treatment of the boy; you flout your favouritism for him like he's your personal Quidditch club; you restructure your life, your school rules, your teaching staff… all to cater to the needs of Harry Potter. And yet, you can send him to that cow of a woman and her abusive prat of a husband like you are packing him off for a sleepaway camp!'

Severus began to wear a path in the carpet as he ranted, and Albus let him. He knew there would be no point in argument until Severus had said his piece.

'He cannot return there!' Severus bellowed. 'I went to their house, Albus, after you brought the child here last summer, don't you remember?'

'I do…' said Albus, frowning again. 'And you promised me that you did not leave them permanently damaged.'

'I did,' Severus agreed. 'Would you like to know what I did to them, Albus?' he asked, leaning over the headmaster now. He did not wait for Albus's reply.

'I legilimised them. Illegally. Petunia and that wretched husband both. I watched their memories – nearly eleven years of moments from Harry Potter's childhood. And then I cursed them, so that they would be forced to re-watch the memories themselves, over and over each night in their sleep… until the day came when they recognised what they had done to him, and felt true remorse for his suffering. I set a monitoring charm upon them, so I would know – if that happened. It has never gone off.'

Albus sighed, in physical and emotional exhaustion. He ran his hand over his eyes again, feeling every one of his years. 'I know they are despicable people, Severus,' he acknowledged quietly. 'I will never pretend otherwise. But even that does not negate that mere _existence_ in their home can give Harry more innate protection than I could ever –'

'You do _not_ know, Albus!' Severus roared, angrier than Albus had seen him in a decade. The man was nearly beside himself – apoplectic with rage. 'Clearly, you do not, or you would not do this. For Merlin's sake, I _hate_ the child – and even I would never subject him to such a fate.'

'You do not hate him, Severus,' Albus disagreed. 'You may not love him… but you do not hate him. Not now, at least, if you ever did.'

Severus scowled. 'He is arrogant, reckless, and foolish to a fault,' he said, repeating an old mantra. Albus rather thought it was more habitual response than anything else, at this point. 'And he has a terrifying habit of jumping headlong in to rescue everything that moves; his need to save the world will get him killed one day.'

'You ought to rejoice in Harry's need to save the world, Severus,' Albus said softly. 'For it will likely save us all, one day.'

'Not if he does not live to _see_ that day, Albus. And he will not if his recklessness gets him killed. Nor if _your_ recklessness ruins him.'

'I am trying to _save_ Harry's life, Severus,' Albus said emphatically.

'You will lose him, if you do this,' Severus insisted. 'It is a miracle he has not succumbed to darkness already… you can have no idea. Has he told you what it was like in that house, Albus? Was he honest about it?'

Severus seemed to read the truth in Albus's face.

'I thought not,' he said. 'Well, I have seen it, headmaster. They did not exactly starve the child, but they withheld food as punishment, usually for things they were well aware were not his fault. They allowed his cousin and his cousin's equally bullying friends to demean him and beat on him. They rejoiced in showering their own child with love, attention, and gifts, but refused anything to Potter but his cousin's cast-offs. They forced him to do the cooking, the cleaning, the gardening… like their personal house-elf. They demanded that he curtail his studies so he would not outperform their own son. They kept him in a tiny cupboard under the stairs until the day his first Hogwarts letter arrived. At times, he was locked in there for weeks on end. And,' he swallowed thickly, as though preparing himself to admit the worst of the atrocities. 'They actively sought to stifle his magic – keep him so browbeaten and downcast that it would be snuffed out of him… as if such a thing were possible. His worst punishments were the result of his earliest signs of accidental magic.'

Albus felt physically ill at Severus' recounting. It was sickening to hear these atrocities laid out so – bare and blunt, for his consideration. He knew that Severus was testing the strength of his resolve, and that he had good reason to doubt – Albus himself lived in fear of this decision.

He sighed deeply again, forcing himself to remain calm. If he was honest with himself, the revelations did not entirely surprise him. He could tell from the moment he'd set foot in the Dursleys' home last July that the place was heavy with dark and oppressive history. That Harry had survived, as pure and innocent as he remained, was nothing short of a miracle. And Albus knew, in Severus's wrathful exclamation, that Severus was comparing Harry's to his own reaction to a dark and miserable childhood. He might wear his loathing for Harry Potter like a cloak, but underneath it… Albus could see his concern stretched beyond his vow to Harry's long-dead mother.

'I am not unaware of the dangers in this, Severus,' he said at last, looking very seriously into the man's dark eyes. 'And I appreciate you confiding all this to me. I will address it with Harry in due course, I promise you.'

'But you will not change your mind,' said Severus, pure venom in his expression.

'I will not,' Albus confirmed, his own eyes growing tearful. 'This latest incident… it has only reaffirmed my worst fears about the lengths to which Lord Voldemort has gone to ensure his own immortality – and redoubled my concern for Harry. His mother's protection makes him, for the moment, near to untouchable to Voldemort. He cannot vanquish Harry, while the protection stands. And it will fall the moment a year passes without his seeking shelter with his relations. I can be many things for Harry, but I cannot fulfil that role. My blood does not carry Lily's.'

Severus was still looking mutinous. But Albus could see that the practical side of the man's mind recognised the logic in his words.

'I am going down to the Great Hall,' Severus said, turning for the door. 'And, Albus, I hope you are right in this gamble… for his sake, and for all of ours.'

'As do I, Severus,' said Albus quietly, as the door closed softly behind the professor. 'As do I.'

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Harry had a very enjoyable last fortnight of term, with the Chamber of Secrets firmly closed and some semblance of normalcy returned to Hogwarts. Without exams to worry about, he, Ron and Hermione were welcome to spend their free periods lounging about in the grounds. They took look walks together in the blazing sunshine. They visited with Hagrid – who was so effusive in his gratitude to the three of them for clearing his name that Harry feared he'd break a rib or collarbone in Hagrid's fierce embrace. Ron did not even have the heart to take Hagrid to task for his very foolish naïveté with Aragog and his descendants. Well, not for _too_ long, at least.

Ginny Weasley was even more embarrassed in Harry's presence than she had been the previous summer… but she did admit to the three of them, and Fred and George, that she had walked in on Percy and Penelope Clearwater having an enthusiastic snogging session in an empty classroom just after New Year. The twins, who had been insatiable in their _unique_ support of Percy's relationship since the entire school had witnessed their reunion at the feast, were absolutely dumbfounded at the news – amazed that they could have missed such an incredible opportunity for so many months. They vowed fervently to make up for the precious lost weeks over the summer holidays, in kind. Harry also received the profuse and tearful thanks of Molly and Arthur Weasley, who stayed at the castle for a few days to see for themselves that Ginny and Ron were fully recovered from the experience.

Hermione was, of course, very keen to hear the details of what had happened down in the Chamber. Harry and Ron discussed the events so often with her, Harry was growing wholeheartedly sick of repeating the story. Most of the other students were also enthralled with the tale, though they did not know as many of the details. Nobody, for instance, seemed to know that Ginny Weasley had been the culprit behind the attacks – if only by means of possession. Most were under the impression that the Heir had been a Hogwarts outsider, whom Harry had defeated to save Ginny from the monster.

The mysterious Grey Lady, to whom Harry had never spoken before, came to him at the start of the final week of term to thank him for his heroics. She seemed haughty and aloof, but perfectly civilised in her manner. Justin Finch-Fletchley and Penelope Clearwater had formally offered their gratitude to Harry as well, and he was pretty certain that Colin Creevey would be nearly impossible to shake next term. Already, he was thinking he would have to use his invisibility cloak if he ever wanted to keep some privacy in his schedule the following September.

Which is why he could be found, just after breakfast on the day before term officially closed, using his free period that had once held Defence Against the Dark Arts to brave the walk down to Professor Snape's dungeon office.

He knocked hesitantly on the potion master's door, feeling oddly as though he were engaged in a paltry echo of his panicked arrival here a few weeks ago.

Snape pulled open the door quite quickly, a sour expression on his face. He seemed momentarily startled to find Harry in the corridor, but recovered himself immediately.

'What is it, Potter?' he asked irritably.

'Er – good morning, sir,' said Harry, somewhat lamely. 'I was hoping… do you still have my invisibility cloak?'

Snape raised a supercilious eyebrow. Harry swallowed, summoning his courage.

'I was wondering, sir, if I could maybe… have it back?'

Snape was silent for one long moment, staring intently down at Harry. Then he stepped slightly aside.

'Come in, Potter,' he said curtly. Harry entered, feeling unaccountably nervous. Snape closed the office door smartly behind him, and swept over to his desk, taking a seat in his high-backed chair and resting his elbows on the wood. Harry waited awkwardly on the spot for Snape's instruction.

'Sit,' the professor said.

Harry sat.

Snape did not speak immediately, but continued to bore into Harry's eyes with his own, apparently deep in contemplation. Harry squirmed a bit under the intensity of his scrutiny, but did not dare to speak out of turn. At long last, Snape broke the eye contact. He bent down below the surface of his desk – so low that the top of his greasy head was the only part of Snape that Harry could see – and opened one of its many drawers. When he straightened, he had Harry's father's cloak clutched in his hand, perfectly folded and mercifully intact. Harry felt a tiny bit of his tension release at the sight of it.

'I will return this to you,' Snape said in a silky tone. 'If you can make me a promise, Potter.'

Harry frowned. 'What promise, professor?'

Snape looked very seriously at him. 'I want you to promise me that you will use it wisely,' he said.

 _Use it wisely_ …

Harry remembered the words. They were the same that Dumbledore had written, when he had given Harry the cloak anonymously the Christmas before last.

'Of course, sir,' said Harry at once, reaching out for the silvery fabric. He rather felt, personally, that he _always_ used the cloak wisely. But Snape pulled it back slightly, still looking unsatisfied.

'You must understand me clearly in this, Potter,' he continued. 'I do not endorse a student owning such a potentially dangerous and mischievous tool. It is against my better judgment to return it to you at all. However, I am… sensitive… to your personal attachment, in this case.'

Harry stared, a little shocked that Snape could show such humanity. He wondered if maybe Dumbledore had just forced him to return the cloak.

'I – thank you, sir,' said Harry, for lack of anything else to say in response.

Snape nodded once. 'When I say "wisely," Potter,' he continued, now sounding much more in his usual lecture mode, 'I am not endorsing that you utilise this cloak in a way that might add to your already appalling streak of dubious behaviour. I do not wish to have continued Gryffindor madness on my conscience. You will use this cloak with _sagacity_ and _forethought_ , and only in times of great need, or when you are instructed to do so by a professor. Do you understand?'

'Yes,' Harry agreed, still with his hand outstretched. Snape gave him one last significant look, but passed over the cloak without further comment. Harry grinned as he took the treasured item back, his heart soaring at its return.

'Thank you, sir,' he said again, moving to rise from his chair. But Snape held out a hand to forestall him.

'Wait a moment, Potter,' he said sharply.

Harry sank back into his seat, his happiness fading a little… he was rather worried that Snape was about to embark on a long tirade against his actions in the Chamber of Secrets. But Snape merely cocked his head as he scrutinised him again, leaning back into his chair, crossing a leg over one knee and rubbing a contemplative finger over his mouth.

'You showed an unusual and intriguing ability, down in the Chamber of Secrets,' he commented.

Harry stared. 'Er – what do you mean, professor?'

Snape smirked slightly, as though Harry were being extraordinarily obtuse. 'Wandless magic, Potter,' he said dryly. 'It is not a common talent. At least, not intentional wandless magic, and it is even more rare for one so young. Surely you heard the headmaster and I remark upon it in his office that evening?'

Harry grimaced a little. 'To be honest, sir,' he said, 'I was a bit out of it that night… I don't remember all of the details after we left the Chamber.'

Snape, to Harry's surprise once again, did not berate him for his lack of attention. He merely nodded again, his gaze calculating.

'That is not surprising,' he said. 'Performing wandless magic can be exceptionally draining, especially on an underage wizard. Like healing magic, it taxes the magical core; and without regular exercise and proper technique in such magics, the core often struggles to cope with the effort.'

'Right,' said Harry, a bit confused. 'Well, I think it was probably a chance thing, professor. But I'll be more careful in future, I suppose.'

'It was not chance,' Snape disagreed. 'It was not even the first of such demonstrations you showed that evening – although I do not believe you were consciously aware of smashing your chair in this office before our departure.'

Harry coloured a bit. He _hadn't_ known he had done that. 'Er… no, professor,' he admitted in embarrassment. 'Sorry – I didn't realise.'

Snape smirked once more in satisfaction. 'I thought not,' he said. 'In any case, Potter, there are few wizards who show a talent for wandless magic. Most can master some level of competence with elementary magic, or parlour tricks, even. But to transcend the mundane and practise in the true art of wandless magic is an uncommon gift, and requires a lifetime of dedication and honing.'

'Can _you_ do it, sir?' Harry asked in wonderment.

Snape raised an eyebrow. 'I can,' he affirmed. 'To some degree, at least. I am not so accomplished as Professor Dumbledore… but then, he has many more years of experience and practise, and wandless magic is a gift which matures and grows with age.'

Harry nodded. He knew Dumbledore could do a lot of magic without a wand – but he had always chalked that up to Dumbledore's almost unearthly power. The headmaster was like Merlin himself, or so Harry had always thought. He just _knew_ things, and could _do_ things… things that Harry never felt he would achieve even if he lived ten lifetimes. He'd never really considered that Dumbledore would have studied and learned his skills as well, at some point. It was as if he'd popped into the world as old and venerable as he had always been to Harry's eyes. Snape… well, he'd been at school with Harry's father, he knew. Even if it was very difficult to imagine Snape sitting in History of Magic at Harry's age, it was not so impossible to remember that Snape would have gone through Hogwarts and mastered his own craft, not so many years ago.

'So you think… do you think, sir, that one day I might be able to do it too? Properly, I mean, not on accident or just once in a while?'

Snape seemed to be thinking hard about his answer. Harry waited.

'You might,' Snape said at last. 'If you work hard and if you are given proper instruction. You are still a little young, as yet, to push yourself too far… your magical core would not be able to cope with it; not until you are closer to your magical maturity. But you could start to learn the basics, if you were so inclined. It would mean a far less layabout summer holiday than you enjoyed last year, mind you.' Snape added, with a stern look.

Harry was excited now. _This_ was something he definitely wanted to learn properly. 'That's brilliant!' he said, enthusiastic.

'I am glad you think so,' said Snape, with a sardonic smile. 'Because I have decided that I shall instruct you in this for the next few months.'

Harry felt a tinge of fear flavour his excitement. 'You – you're going to teach me, sir?' he asked uncertainly, trying not to sound too ungrateful.

It didn't appear that Snape was fooled, as his gaze turned a bit more predatory.

'You think I would not be capable of teaching you, Potter?' he asked in a dangerous tone.

'Oh, no, of course not, professor!' said Harry hurriedly. 'I'm, er, I'm sure you would be _very_ good. I just thought… Professor Dumbledore –'

'The headmaster has many demands on his time this summer,' said Snape with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'And I am sure he will already be quite busy, if he is to continue your instruction in Occlumency and Defence. And Merlin knows you will need _ample_ time with that particular field… given the colossal incompetence of your instructor this term.'

Harry grimaced, thinking of the many months wasted in Lockhart's classroom. He could not deny that Snape had a point.

'We will commence your tutoring in wandless magic, then,' Snape continued, 'At the start of the second week of the holiday. After you sit a Potions examination on this year's material, of course, so that I can ensure you are adequately prepared for next autumn. Let us hope that you show slightly more natural inclination for wandless magic than you have shown in Potions, as yet.'

'You're giving me an _exam_?!' repeated Harry, horrified. 'But that's not fair! Dumbledore cancelled the exams this term!'

' _Professor_ Dumbledore,' said Snape, with a much more characteristic sneer, 'cancelled the schoolwide end of year tests, that is true. But you are a special case, aren't you, Potter? So yes, I will be checking to see how much you have retained from this year's syllabus. If you pass the examination to my satisfaction, we shall devote the remainder of your summer instruction to wandless magic. That is my offer.'

Harry felt outraged. He wanted to learn wandless magic… but first he would have to revise for a whole week for a Potions exam, written just for him? And if he knew Snape – which he was sure he did – the professor was bound to make the test exceedingly difficult… if he was formulating it specially for Harry alone. It seemed he had little choice in the matter, however.

'Alright sir,' he agreed reluctantly. 'I'll do it.'

'A wise decision, Mr Potter.' Snape said.

And he bowed him from the dungeon office.

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Harry was still sullen over Snape's pronouncement as he climbed onto the moving staircase several hours later to keep his appointment with the headmaster, although the thought that he would be learning wandless casting was some consolation.

He stepped off at the top and knocked on the office door, wondering why, exactly, Dumbledore had sent for him.

'Ah, come in, Harry,' the headmaster called in welcome. Harry stepped into the office, somewhat surprised to see that Professor McGonagall was in attendance as well, and looking rather red around the eyes.

'Good afternoon, professors,' he said politely, closing the office door behind him.

'Have a seat, Harry, have a seat,' Dumbledore said warmly, gesturing Harry toward his usual sofa. Harry could not help but notice, as he passed the headmaster for the proffered sofa, that Dumbledore's usual easy smile looked rather strained and did not quite reach his eyes. He looked again to Professor McGonagall, who was determinedly staring into the hearth and biting hard on her lower lip.

'Er – is everything alright, sir?' Harry asked, feeling apprehensive at the tension. McGonagall gave an odd sound that might have been a stifled sob, pressing a hand at once to her mouth. Dumbledore gave her a sharp look, but continued to smile at Harry. It looked, Harry thought, rather more like a grimace.

'Everything is fine, Harry,' Dumbledore reassured him. 'Or it will be, at least.'

Harry shifted nervously on the sofa, still looking between the professors. 'What is it you wanted to see me about, professor?' he asked Dumbledore.

'I wished to discuss your plans for the summer,' said the headmaster, looking quite seriously at him. Harry felt his stomach sink a little.

'Oh,' he said, suddenly dreading the conversation. Snape had made it sound like he would be at Hogwarts again for the summer holidays. Harry could not remember _specifically_ discussing the matter with Dumbledore, but he had certainly expected that he would be remaining at the school. Perhaps that was a foolish dream? Perhaps Dumbledore did not want him to stay… he had caused an awful lot of trouble this year, after all.

'It is my wish that you spend the majority of your summer holidays here, Harry,' said Dumbledore, 'Hogwarts is your home, and I meant what I told you last July – you are always welcome and wanted here. At the school, and with Minerva and myself.'

Harry felt the weight on his chest ease a fraction. He smiled. 'Thank you, sir!' he said. 'This – this is what I have always wanted. And I promise I won't cause you any trouble at all… I'll be good, and I'll do my studies and everything.'

'I am sure you will,' said Dumbledore with a smile. 'However, there is one thing I must ask you to do first, for the first week of the summer holiday only.'

Harry felt his enthusiasm wilt a little, thinking of the mountain of Potions revision he already had to tackle thanks to Snape's unpleasant revelation. 'Er – what's that, sir?' he asked hesitantly.

Dumbledore sighed. 'You are aware that your mother placed a protection charm upon you with her own death, so that you cannot be harmed by Voldemort?' he asked. Harry nodded. 'That protection is very complex, Harry, and quite unique. It survives because of the part of Lily that lives within you – a mother's bond with her child. When your mother gave her life for yours, she invoked a magic which tied your blood to her own, so that it would act as a shield between you and your enemy. I performed the second step of the ritual the night after your parents were killed, when I brought you to the Dursleys for protection and shelter. It was why that move had to be enacted so quickly, because the power of that particular brand of sacrificial magic will normally fade, if it is not reinforced by the continuation of a blood-bond between the one who gave the sacrifice and the one she intended to save. Your mother, of course, could not serve to re-strengthen the bond, as she had given her life to form it. Her parents had predeceased her. My only option, therefore, was in her sister Petunia, and Petunia's child. They were the only individuals alive who shared her blood, and so they were the only choice for your continued protection.'

'She _never_ loved me!' Harry insisted. He thought he saw, vaguely, where Dumbledore was going with this explanation of sacrifice and protection… he could read it, in the defeated set of the headmaster's shoulders, and in McGonagall's devastation. He could _not_ let it happen.

'My Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, even Dudley,' Harry continued in panic, 'They _hate_ me, professor! They couldn't care less what happens to me.'

Dumbledore looked ancient to Harry's eyes, and heartbreakingly sad. 'It was not necessary for her to love you, Harry,' he said, very softly. 'Not to seal the enchantment. Your mother's love was enough. The sharing of blood is merely the magical conduit for the creation of the protection bond – the blood ward, for lack of a more adequate descriptor. For her to take you – that was enough. As long as you can claim some measure of shelter under Petunia Dursley's roof; as long as you can return there with some regularity, you will not lose that protection.'

'No!' cried Harry.

He could see it now – could see the awful finality of Dumbledore's decision in those piercing blue eyes. They were watering slightly, and Harry felt his own tear up in response. He did not care that he could tell that the headmaster was agonising over this too… he could not, _would_ not, be sent back.

'Please sir,' he begged, 'Please don't. _Please_ don't send me back there! I can't do it… I can't live like that again. Not now that I know what it feels like to have _real_ family,' he finished softly, already too far gone to continue speech.

McGonagall rushed to the sofa and threw her arms around him, pulling him tight to her chest as he despaired. She did not speak to contradict the headmaster, but Harry could feel her disapproval in the strength of her embrace.

'I do not wish to do it, my dear child,' said Dumbledore, very quietly. 'You cannot know how much the idea disgusts me, pains me. But your mother's protection remains the most powerful I can give you, Harry. She _died_ for you – gave you everything. And Lord Voldemort grows stronger every day. He will return again. You will have to face him again; I have little doubt. But as long as your mother's protection endures, you are safe from him in a way I can never replicate with any degree of certainty.'

Dumbledore left his own seat, coming to kneel at Harry's side. Through McGonagall's pinning arms, the headmaster managed to reach Harry's cheek, cupping it in his much larger hand. He ran his thumb tenderly down Harry's face, forcing Harry's gaze unwillingly to his own tear-filled eyes.

'I love you more than anything, my dear boy,' said Dumbledore seriously. 'I would give my own life for you, if it came to it. With no hesitation. But right now, in this moment, the best thing I can give you is the continuation of your mother's incredible last gift – the pinnacle of all that is good and wondrous in our magical world. I realise that I am asking a great deal from you, my child. And I know it will not be easy or remotely enjoyable. But I must ask you to be brave once more, as you have shown you undoubtedly are, time and again. You will only have to stay a week, I promise you, and I will be sending someone with you to watch over you and keep you from harm. When the week is finished and the protection renewed for another year, I will come for you myself at once, and bring you home again.'

Harry searched Dumbledore's eyes as he spoke, his mind a tumult of emotion and pain. But, for once, he did not feel that Dumbledore's blue gaze was x-raying himself. Rather, he saw a sudden change in Dumbledore's eyes… and felt, for the first time, that their positions were reversed: that Dumbledore was allowing Harry a glimpse into his own soul.

He wormed out a hand from under McGonagall's arm, grasping Dumbledore's forearm with more urgency than he had intended.

'You'll come for me sir, after a week?' he repeated.

'I will,' Dumbledore promised him solemnly.

And Harry gave a tremulous nod of assent, allowing Dumbledore to join the embrace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They sat together for several long minutes – all three caught up in their personal demons, and their shared understanding. And then there was a knock on the office door, and the trio were brought back to the present with unceremonious abruptness.

'Just a moment, please,' Dumbledore called to the visitor, straightening from the floor and wiping the remnants of the emotional interlude from his face.

Harry disentangled himself from McGonagall, accepting a handkerchief from her to clean his own tear tracks. He stared in curiosity at the closed office door, still hiding the visitor from view. In all the time he had grown to know Albus Dumbledore, he had never known the man to keep a caller waiting on the threshold. He looked in confusion at the headmaster, who gave him a small smile.

'The visitor is for you, Harry,' he told him.

'For me?' asked Harry in surprise. 'Who would be calling for me, sir?'

Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling a bit again. Harry found he had missed the familiar sparkle. 'This is the escort I spoke of for you, Harry. He will be your companion during your week away, and keeping an eye on you for me. I assure you, you will find him most agreeable, and he has a keen interest in your wellbeing.'

Harry stared back in confusion, a little nervous again.

'Enter,' the headmaster called. The door swung inward immediately.

A man stepped through into the room, tall and with quite a young face, Harry thought, though his sandy hair was beginning to grey, and he looked as though he could use a few nights' decent sleep. His robes were neatly pressed but rather shabby and worn-looking, and he carried a battered leather case in his left hand. He smiled a greeting at Dumbledore, and then his gaze found Harry, and he stared.

Harry could read kindness and gentleness in the light eyes, and something like long-satisfied yearning.

'Harry, this is Remus Lupin,' said Dumbledore, stepping forward to make the introductions. 'You have heard me speak of him before, I think. He is an old and dear friend of mine. Remus,' he said to the stranger, 'This is Harry Potter.'

The man smiled, coming closer to Harry and offering his hand. Harry took it, feeling callouses on the weathered skin as they shook.

'Hello Harry,' said Remus Lupin, in a slightly hoarse voice. 'It is a pleasure to meet you.'

'You too, sir,' said Harry, offering a shy smile in return. Remus searched his face hungrily, as if he would only have this one chance to take Harry in. Harry cocked his head a little, giving Dumbledore a confused glance.

'I'm sorry,' Remus apologised, releasing his hand and stepping back to give Harry space. 'I don't mean to stare. It's just, you have precisely your mother's eyes, just like I remember. But you look…' he trailed off, still staring in wonder at Harry's face.

'What is it, sir?' asked Harry, beginning to feel a little unnerved.

'You look _exactly_ like James.' Remus breathed quietly.

Harry smiled. 'Did you know my father?' he asked shyly.

Remus nodded, giving Harry a small, sad smile. 'Very well,' he said. 'James Potter was my best friend.'

Harry gave a true grin, excitement burning within him for the first time since Dumbledore's horrific announcement. He considered Remus Lupin closely… his father's best friend… perhaps, this week would not be as insurmountable as he first anticipated.

'Can you tell me about him, sir?' he asked. 'Over the summer, I mean?'

Remus put a hand on his shoulder, a true smile breaking over his face. It made him look much younger. 'I promise, Harry,' he said simply.

And, as with Dumbledore, Harry believed him.

 **FIN.**


End file.
